


There Goes My Heart

by AlwaysKatie7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Missing Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 56,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysKatie7/pseuds/AlwaysKatie7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end result might seem easy, but it was a winding road that led Ron and Hermione together. A collection of missing moments throughout the series. (First posted in 2012, minor spelling/grammar/formatting edits made as of 2016).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Protecting Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Started in 2012. Minor edits (spelling and grammar) made in 2016 as I transfer this over to Ao3.
> 
> I probably won't get all the chapters posted on here today, but if you'd like to binge read them, they're all up on FanFiction.net. 
> 
> The title for this story comes from the song "There Goes" by Alan Jackson, because I was very uncreative and also because I'm quite fond of the song: _There goes your paralyzing eyes/ there goes your tantalizing smile/ there goes my act of playing it cool/ And there go the words I meant to say/ there go the games I wanted to play/ there goes my heart/ falling for you_
> 
> Without further ado here's the first chapter, set during chapter 13, "Nicholas Flamel," of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or "There Goes."

“Come on, Hermione, just one game.”

“We both know you’ll win, so what’s the point?” Hermione said sourly.

Ron shrugged. “Practice. You can’t get better at it if you never _play._ Besides, what else have you got to do?”

“Study, Ron! Exams are only _weeks_ away. Aren’t you at least slightly worried about them?”

“No,” said Ron simply. Hermione huffed at him before returning to her Transfiguration book, which was spread out against the arm of her chair while she copied its information onto the stack of notecards in her lap.

Ron sighed and slumped back into his own armchair next to Hermione’s, near the Common Room fire. Harry had left the pair of them for Quidditch practice, and ever since, Hermione had buried herself in her work and left Ron to hopelessly try and convince her to play a game of chess. _Harry_ would have played with him, he thought bitterly, missing his best friend more by the second.

The morning after they’d saved her from the troll, Hermione had sat across from them at breakfast, and he and Harry had included her in their conversation. As though it was some unspoken agreement, from that point on Hermione tagged along with them, and they’d become friends. Admittedly, she’d gotten a lot better since the day they’d all first met on the Hogwarts Express. Now that she’d broken the rules once, by covering for him and Harry, she was a little less concerned about doing it again... and a relaxed Hermione was a fun Hermione.

Unfortunately, it seemed like whenever Harry was gone, things grew more awkward between she and him. As soon as Harry had left today, they’d grown quiet and stared at each other blankly for few moments before Hermione had muttered something about homework and pulled over her school bag. It was like they couldn’t even _talk_ to one another without Harry there between them. Ron was beginning to wonder if she was perhaps still secretly mad at him for what he’d said on Halloween. Maybe she didn’t really like him at all, and only put up with him because she wanted to be friends with Harry. He gulped. Surely that wasn’t it?

As this new panic set in he tried vainly to get her to turn her attention away from her schoolwork. “I think I know what it is,” he said hotly, in a last ditch attempt, “You just can’t stand the thought of losing at something. You don’t want to play chess because you know I’m better at it than you, and you hate being anything less than perfect all of the bloody time.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed and she finally looked up from her book to glare at him. “That is _not_ true Ron.”

But from the color still on her face Ron could tell that what he’d said was really the truth, and she just couldn’t stand it. He locked his eyes on hers and they sat there mutually glaring at each other until Hermione finally spoke. “Pull out the board then,” She said with a groan, gathering up her notes and shoving them into her bag. Ron felt like punching the air with joy as he set up the pieces.

Five minutes into the game, Hermione had already lost several of her black pieces, and Ron was only down a couple of rooks. “How did you get so good at this?” She asked as he took one of her knights.

Ron looked up at her. She appeared genuinely curious. “My brother Charlie taught me. I’ve always done well at it.”

“Oh,” Hermione replied, moving her piece in to take his castle. How had he not seen that? It was all her fault for talking when he was trying to concentrate!

A few silent moves later and he was back in the lead. “Don’t worry, i’m sure you’ll get better _eventually_ ,” he grinned jokingly. She shook her head.

“Haha,” she said flatly, but even she was smiling a bit. They were having fun, the two of them! She couldn’t _possibly_ hate him....

Ron stopped intently planning out his next move to address that still nagging thought. “You aren’t still upset with me about Halloween are you?”

Hermione’s brown eyes widened and she shook her head furiously, her bush of hair moving along in the same motion. “What would make you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Ron said quickly, not wanting to reveal the real reason, that he knew she liked Harry more than him.

“How could I possible still be mad at you? I mean, that troll would have probably killed me if it hadn’t been for you. Your wingardium leviosa charm was brilliant, you finally managed to pronounce it right!”

“But you never would have been in there with the troll if I hadn’t said that thing about the amount of friends you have,” Ron pointed out stubbornly, trying to keep from grinning at her compliment. Did she really think that about him?”

“But if _you_ hadn’t said that and _I_ hadn’t been caught by the troll, I would still have no friends. It turned out to be a good thing for me, really.”

This time he really grinned.

“It’s still youe turn,” Hermione said eventually, motioning towards the board.

“Right.” He tried to refocus and assess the board. It was a lot more difficult after Hermione had said those things about him. She actually cared about him after all, at least a little. Just as he was about to take her second knight, Harry staggered back into the common room, and took the seat next to him. “Don’t talk to me for a moment. I need to concen-”

Ron stopped abruptly when he caught sight of his friend’s face, which looked as if he’d just gotten hit with the Halloween troll’s club. “What’s the matter with you? You look terrible.” *

It didn’t take long for Harry to tell them... Snape was refereeing the next Quidditch match. Ron and Hermione locked eyes, seemingly thinking the same thing: this could not be good.

* * *

“Pay attention, Ron!” Hermione snapped, staring over at the redheaded boy, who just happened to be making multi-colored sparks erupt through the air.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Ron replied, not really sounding sorry at all. Nevertheless he decided to amuse her by lowering his wand and having another look at the open textbook laid out on one of the desks. Hermione had run off to the library to find the brown-leather covered volume, and the two were currently following its instructions on performing the Leg-Locker Curse in an empty classroom.

After Harry had told them he still planned to participate in the match refereed by Snape, Hermione had insisted they secretly try and learn a curse to cast on the Professor if he tried to pull another stunt on Harry, like bewitching his broom again. Ron had suggested the Leg-Locker Curse immediately, remembering Neville hopping through the portrait hole after Malfoy had cast the incantation on him. Their mutual need to protect Harry had kept Ron and Hermione from enjoying their free periods on more than one occasion, as they practiced the jinx whenever it was possible without being discovered.

“Try it again then,” Hermione’s voice boomed out from behind him. Ron’s head shot up from the book and he turned to face her, raising his wand once more. He cast the spell loudly, and managed to get it completely right for the very first time, as Hermione’s legs sprung together and she fell back with a thud onto the cushions she’d accioed in earlier, unable to keep her balance. Ron quickly hurried over to her to perform the counter-curse and saw that she was smiling broadly up at him.

“Well done, Ron! At this rate we’ll be able to really catch Snape off guard if he tries to start something. Alright, let me have another go.” She pulled herself from the floor and drew her wand, pointing it at Ron. She was equally successful at the curse, but Ron managed to miss the pile of cushions and fall painfully into a desk on his way down. “Are you alright?” Hermione screeched fearfully, running over to unlock his legs and help him up again. He scowled and rubbed his back, which he could feel bruising already, in response.

“Maybe we should stop for the day Hermione. The match is only a half hour away, we should head down to the stadium to get seats. Besides, we’ve already gotten the spell completely memorized! Snape won’t know what hit him.”

“I suppose you’re right. I still can’t believe a _teacher_ could be so cruel! I just wish we knew who Flamel was, then we’d be one step closer to getting Snape sacked. He’s just so horrible.”

Ron looked at her, impressed. Although she had finally accepted that Snape was after the stone, Hermione still rarely let on how much of a prat he was, at least compared to him and Harry’s constant criticisms about the Potion’s master. Hermione was really too kind for her own good, he thought.

“We’ll--well actually, it will probably just be you--will find out who he is eventually. You have to have read ninety percent of the library by now.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she gathered up the cushions in the corner of the deserted classroom and packed away the book that had taught them the Leg-Locker Curse. “Thanks for that Ron, what a compliment.”

“No problem.” He opened the classroom and motioned for her to exit, following out after her. From behind, he couldn’t she the hint of a smiling lighting up Hermione’s face as she shook her head at one of her best friends.

*quote taken from page 217 of the USA edition of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_


	2. Back Through The Trapdoor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set during chapter 17, "The Man With Two Faces," of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone._ Happy reading!

Hermione was terrified. She was sitting, stock still, in her usual armchair by the common room fire. Ron was next to her in _his_ usual seat, his face placid but his body as rigid as her own. They had been silent for almost half an hour, quietly watching the flames and lost in their own thoughts, but neither of them had the desire to go up to their dormitories.

For one of the first times in her life, Hermione felt utterly useless. She couldn’t even look at Ron without immediately flashing back to an hour ago, when he’d lain completely still on the floor of McGonagall’s giant chess set. And thinking of Ron’s unconscious body only made her think of the state Harry must be in, fighting Snape on his own for the stone. She was here sitting by the fire, and he could be well on his way to death, or even worse, already dead....

 _Dumbledore’s down there with him,_ she forced herself to remember shrewdly, _he can’t possibly be hurt when Dumbledore’s there._

She chanced a glance at her other, safe, friend, sitting right next to her, but immediately regretted it as his still body swam into her vision once more, blocking out the common room. There she was, surrounded by broken bits of giant black and white rooks and pawns and various other chess pieces, shaking Ron furiously and shouting at him to wake up, nearly in tears. She’d just been screaming at him that Harry was going to die if he didn’t awaken soon when his eyes had flickered open and she’d hurriedly removed her hands from his shoulders, wiping away the few lose drops of water on her cheeks. Ron had gazed up at her as if she was a mad woman before he’d burst out laughing at her beat red face, the noise stifling quickly when he’d reached up to take hold of his pounding head.

As soon as he’d regained his senses and remembered where they were, Hermione had quickly explained about the room with the potions and about Harry going on alone, at which point she’d _really_ burst into tears and grabbed Ron in a fierce hug, sobbing that she’d thought they were all goners. Ron had tentatively hugged her back before speaking. “Erm, Hermione, don’t you think we ought to go get help, for Harry?”

“Oh you’re r-right, I’m w-wasting time!” Hermione had responded, sobbing even harder. Ron had gotten up shakily and held out his hand for her, which she’d taken gratefully and allowed him to pull her up. Together they’d run up the corridor, back to the room with the winged keys. Luckily Ron had realized she was in no fit state to ride a broom, because he'd let her jump on the same one as him, she playing the flute to calm fluffy as he led them right out of the trapdoor.

They’d met Dumbledore as they were sprinting towards the Owlery, in order to contact the Professor himself, who was supposed to be in London. After simultaneously nodding their heads when asked “He’s gone after him, hasn’t he?”*, as Dumbledore dashed off into the direction they’d come from, Ron had wanted to head straight back to the Gryffindor common room. But Hermione had insisted they go to the hospital wing. He was still looking rather pale to her, not to mention the unfortunately large cut that was covered in dried blood above his forehead.

Madam Pomfrey had been none to pleased when they’d come knocking in the dead of night, only to find them looking as if they had been once again attacked by a mountain troll. A skewed version of what had actually happened below the trapdoor seemed to satisfy her enough, however, to cure their various bumps and bruises--some with a few short flicks of her wand, and some with a thick, oily potion that made Hermione’s skin sting. Afterwards she’d accompanied them up to the portrait hole, still muttering about “the trouble these kids get themselves into,” and, after casting the pair some final stern looks and informing them that Professor McGonagall would be made aware of their midnight wanderings, bade them goodnight.

And now here they were, staring at the fire and not talking to one another. Hermione quickly chastised herself for thinking of the whole ordeal yet _again,_ and cast her stare away from Ron, instead looking at the spot where she’d cursed Neville. The spell must have worn off of him, because when her and Ron had returned, he’d already gone off to bed, as Ron informed her when he came back down from changing into his pajamas. Hermione pulled her robe tighter around her tiny body and hugged her knees to her chest, feeling almost like crying again.

“Do you think Harry is alright?” She made herself ask him eventually, not meeting his eyes. Even to her, her voice sounded weak and unconvincing, immediately betraying her own opinion on the matter.

“He’ll be fine.” Ron replied, far too gruffly. Clearly he shared her sentiments. She could feel his eyes, boring into her.

“I thought you weren’t going to wake up,” She whispered in the same feeble voice, staring into the fire. He didn’t say anything. “It was really brave of you, you know, to sacrifice yourself like that.”

There was a long pause, then, “Harry had to go on.” Hermione found herself nodding, thoughts of Harry, defenseless against Snape, who was clutching the stone, lingering unpleasantly in her brain. But Dumbledore _had_ to have gotten there on time, he just _had_ to have had. They really wouldn’t know until morning. It was far too risky to go dodging around the school again. If Harry had gotten out safely, Dumbledore was sure to have taken him to the hospital wing, and if he hadn’t...well, she really tried not to think of the other options.

“You should go to bed, Hermione,” Ron’s voice, about as much like himself as her own, sounded out again. “We can go see Harry before breakfast tomorrow. That is, if Madam Pomfrey lets us in.”

“ _You_ aren’t going to bed,” Hermione said pointedly.

Ron shrugged, “Not tired.”

“Neither am I!” She hissed testily.

Once again, Ron shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

They quickly lapsed back to their former state of silence. Truthfully, Hermione _was_ pretty tired. She leaned her head against the back of her armchair and closed her eyes. A few minutes of rest couldn’t hurt. It was better than sitting there worrying, anyway. Slowly she felt herself slipping, falling, falling....

* * *

She woke to the sound of rustling from nearby. For one wild moment she half-expected to see Fluffy leering over her, but when she flickered open her eyes, it was only Fred, George, and Lee, shaking a sleeping Ron beside her. “Whatsgoingon?” She said sleepily.

Lee Jordan answered. “Morning, Hermione! People’ll be coming down for breakfast soon.”

Fred and George had managed to shake Ron awake, and he was now staring groggily over at her, eyes wide.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing we got up early to try out some new products, or someone else could have found you down here...asleep...alone....” George said, holding up a new bag of Zonko’s purchases.

“Wouldn’t want people to talk.” Fred added, winking at his younger brother. Ron’s ears turned red almost instantly.

Ron and Hermione both jumped out of their armchairs and hurried off to their individual dormitories to change, Fred and George doing a sort of wolf-whistling behind them, while Lee laughed hysterically. By the time they had re-emerged, a few early-rising students were beginning to shuffle out of the portrait hall. They followed the crowd for a while before veering off in the direction of the hospital wing, rather than that of the Great Hall.

“I can’t believe we fell asleep!” She burst out suddenly, leading a little ahead of Ron in her hurry to see what had become of Harry.

“Relax, Hermione,” Ron said from behind her, doing a bit of a jog to catch up to her. “You fell asleep first.” He added as an afterthought.

“Yes, well, it was only supposed to be a nap!”

Ron rolled his eyes as they came to a halt in front of the large wooden hospital wing doors. Hermione tentatively pushed them open, only to find Madam Pomfrey bustling over to them from a bed at the far end of the wing, covered by thick, blue curtains. “Of course it would be you two,” She said rather stonily. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back during visiting hours. It’s 7 o’clock, the boy needs sleep!”

“So Harry’s here?” Ron asked gleefully. Hermione was straining her neck to try and see him behind the curtains.

“Yes of course he’s here, where else would he be after going after that stone? Against a fully trained wizard none the less!”

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Hermione said anxiously, stopping her straining to look up at the other witch.

“He’ll be alright. With some _rest,_ ” Madam Pomfrey replied firmly. They both knew it was pointless to argue, so they allowed themselves to be shooed away back into the corridor. Hermione, still rather panicky over Harry, had to be dragged back over to the grand staircase by Ron.

“We’ll just come back and see him in a couple of hours. We can bring him some chocolate frogs too, Fred and George brought me back a box on their last trip to Hogsmeade. That’ll cheer him up.”

With Ron’s reassurances, Hermione willingly agreed to accompany him to breakfast. The majority of the school seemed to be awake by now, and it was with some difficulty that they were able to find decent seats at the Gryffindor table. Luckily Dumbledore was sitting amongst the other teachers in his regular chair, looking far too happy for anything bad to have happened last night, as Hermione noted upon careful inspection. “Harry must have managed to get the stone!” She whispered over to Ron.

“Course he did!” Ron said confidently. Hermione beamed at him.

It didn’t take long for rumors to circulate at Hogwarts. By the end of breakfast the student body was buzzing, each story getting more complex and outrageous than the last. From the opposite side of the table, Seamus could be heard telling everyone around him that Harry had had to fight a dragon. Dean stared at him in awe, probably imagining Harry, glasses askew, brandishing his wand and throwing hexes at a gigantic black dragon, spitting fire. Hermione shook her head.

“Oh, honestly! A dragon? That was _months_ ago!” They both shuddered at the memory of Norbert.

“I don’t know how Charlie does it,” Ron said, staring down at his hand, which had been poisoned a while back by Hagrid’s little ‘pet.’

By the time they’d finished their toast and marmalade, students were practically swarming to the hospital wing, hoping to get a glimpse of Harry, sometimes dropping off sweets. Ron and Hermione seemed to have been left out of most of the swarming rumors, but every now and then someone would clap them on the back or congratulate them.

A while later, Madam Pomfrey finally allowed them to visit Harry for themselves. His account of Quirrell and what had been behind his turban actually made Hermione shriek. She couldn’t believe it. The whole year they’d been all wrong, suspecting Snape, when he’d actually been trying to help them! When she voiced this to Ron on their way out, he actually laughed.

“It still doesn’t stop Snape from being a git. We got most everything else right, though, so I guess we didn’t do too badly.”

Hermione stared at him, taking in his brilliant hair and freckles, his eyes that crinkled at the edges whenever he smiled. She was very glad she had become friends with him. _We didn’t do too badly at all,_ she thought happily.


	3. The Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 5, "The Whomping Willow," of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

It was September the first. She was supposed to be excited. She was supposed to be happy. Instead, Hermione Granger was peering out the window anxiously, shuffling around in her seat on the Hogwarts Express. Where could they possibly be? It was mere _minutes_ before eleven o’clock, the scarlet steam engine would be pulling out of the station at any time now, and her two best friends were nowhere in sight.

She’d specifically found a compartment in the back of the train, alone, where Harry and Ron could join her, and they could catch up properly. The three had really only had a few hours together all summer, that day in Diagon Alley, which had mostly been spent frantically running around to buy spellbooks and replenish their supplies for school. Although her and Ron had sent a few letters to one another, his were always disappointingly brief compared to her own lengthy updates and inquiries. She had, of course, sent similar notes to Harry, but due to the house elf Dobby, who he’d told her all about whilst shopping, she’d never gotten anything back from him at all. Hermione was dying to hear more about his summer with the Dursleys, and Ron’s trip to Egypt, which must have been _fascinating._

Finally she spotted them out her window, first Fred and George, then the rest of the Weasleys, emerging in ones and twos onto the platform. Hermione, however, noticed right away what Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were now busy passing out sandwiches, had missed-- Ron and Harry hadn’t come through the barrier. Anxiety filled her once again while she pondered what could have happened to them.

Maybe they’d already gotten on the train, she’d simply missed them because she’d been so preoccupied watching the other Weasleys. That had to be it. But just as she was going to get up to go find them in the other compartments, the Hogwarts Express sounded out it’s bellowing horn, signaling it’s departure, and Mrs. Weasley reluctantly released Ginny from her grasp, looking around for her youngest son--who wasn’t there. “Where have Ron and Harry gone off to?” Hermione heard Ron’s mum saying from the platform. She sighed, Harry and Ron wouldn’t have gotten on board with out at least saying goodbye to Ron’s parents. The train pulled away just after Ginny clambered onboard, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were left frantically searching the platform for the two boys Hermione wanted most to see.

* * *

The trip to Hogsmeade station was unpleasant to say the least. Fred and George, who Hermione hunted down sitting with Lee Jordan at the front of the train, had no idea where their younger brother had gone off to, though Fred joked that maybe he’d decided to take the family’s flying car to school. This didn’t make Hermione feel better in the slightest. Not wanting to sit alone, she’d wandered over to the compartment where the rest of her dormitory was seated.

Parvati Patil, her twin sister from Ravenclaw, Padma, and Lavender Brown were deep in conversation on whether or not a Hufflepuff girl in their year had cleared away her acne over the summer with magic.

“No way,” Padma was saying, “The ministry would have found out for sure. Underage magic outside of school is illegal!”

“But there’s no way her face could have cleared up on it’s own,” her sister argued, “Do you remember her last year?”

“Maybe she used a potion,” Lavender chimed in. Hermione quickly made an excuse to leave, instead going to sit with Neville, whose greatest discussion topics were, thankfully, Herbology and his Gran, which at least she could sit through.

When they finally got to Hogwarts, however, Ron and Harry’s absence was as prominent as ever. In the Great Hall, Snape, too, she realized, was gone from his usual chair. She took the seat next to Neville, watching only halfheartedly as the sorting hat sang it’s opening song, different from the one she’d heard at her own sorting. The words, however, seemed to wash over her, she being too distracted to absorb them.

When the song came to an end, Professor McGonagall began calling each of the new student’s names from a long scroll. Ginny Weasley, Hermione noted, was standing in the back of the group, looking exceptionally nervous. When her name was called, the sorting hat took only a minute to decide before calling out “Gryffindor”. Fred, George, and Percy all clapped loudly as she walked over to join their table, beaming. “Yates, Jeremy” was sorted into Ravenclaw, and then it was over.

Dumbledore, dressed in sweeping amber robes, stood up to say a few words. “Welcome, to another year at Hogwarts! First of all, before we begin our grand feast, I would like to remind both first-years, and returning students, that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to all.”

There was a pause as he fixed the entire hall with his piercing stare. Although he wasn’t looking directly at her, Hermione felt as if his eyes were upon her and her alone. From the serious looks of everyone around her, she figured they felt the same way.

“And now, on a much happier note,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes now sparkling underneath his spectacles, “I would like to welcome a new addition to the staff, Professor Lockhart, who will be replacing Professor Quirrell as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

As Lockhart stood and shined his white teeth at them, Hermione lost her concern for Harry and Ron altogether. She could almost feel herself melting at the Professor’s wide smile, gleaming as he gave a small swoosh of his blue robes and a relish of his hand in acknowledgement of Dumbledore. When she thought of all the things he had done! She’d spent the better part of her last few days of holiday reading her new set of Lockhart books, and the man was inspiring. He’d done everything from saving an entire town from a werewolf, to banishing a menacing banshee while it was at it’s peak of terror. Hermione clapped far longer than necessary for the new professor, an action duplicated by nearly all of the girls in the hall.

“So without further ado,” Dumbledore started again, as Lockhart took his seat, “Let the feast begin!” Food of every kind filled the golden platters along the length of the Gryffindor table. Hermione’s zealousness at seeing Lockhart seemed to disappear upon the arrival of dinner. She took a bit of everything, but could hardly eat as worry for her friends filled her again, instead picking at her meal with the end of her fork and occasionally taking minuscule bites.

It seemed extremely unlikely, but the only conclusion she could come up with was that there had been too many muggles hanging around for the boys to be able to come quietly through the barrier. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were bound to have found them by now, if that was the case. Would the Hogwarts Express come back for them?

As Dean went on to Seamus and Neville about a football game he’d been to over the summer, Hermione noticed both McGonagall and Dumbledore walk out of the hall, following Snape, who had suddenly reemerged. They were looking rather stern. Snape on the other hand, appeared overcome with a glee rarely seen on his face. Twenty minutes later, however, when dessert was being served and the three Professors returned, Snape seemed just as solemn as the others, even furious-looking. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if this had anything to do with Harry and Ron. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had sent an owl to the school?

She wasn’t the only one who noticed. Students up and down the hall were gradually becoming aware of the lack of “that famous Harry Potter.” A group of burly seventh years claimed to have heard Snape telling Flitwick during dessert that Harry had been expelled for crashing a car on school grounds. Fred and George apparently heard the same rumor, because minutes later that planted themselves across from Hermione, grinning.

“They really _did_ fly it,” George said, sounding a bit envious.

“Who knew Ronnie had it in him?” Fred added.

“They can’t possibly have flown the car,” said Hermione, trying to convince _herself,_ more than the twins.

“Sure he could’ve. Mum’ll be furious...”

“...at someone other than us for once.”

“He’ll never be allowed out of the house again!”

They both got up and moved back over to their end of the table. Hermione finished her cake in silence.

* * *

By the time the feast was over, she was more concerned than ever. Percy stood up, ushering the new students towards the Gryffindor common room, and she lagged along from behind. But once he’d given out the password, and students were filing in through the portrait hole, Hermione decided to double back. She’d go to Professor McGonagall, tell her that Harry and Ron hadn’t been on the train and that she was just wondering what had happened to them. McGonagall had to know something by this point. Just as she was heading towards the direction of the professor’s office, she saw them, Harry and Ron, walking slowly towards the Fat Lady. Hermione gasped and turned the corner, running up behind them and talking quickly, “ _There_ you are! Where have you _been_? The most _ridiculous_ rumors--someone said you’d been expelled for crashing a flying car--” *

“Well we haven’t been expelled,” * said Harry, looking a bit guilty all the same.

“You’re not telling me you _did_ fly here?” * She answered exasperatedly.

“Skip the lecture, and tell us the new password,” * said Ron impatiently. Had he grown taller since their day in Diagon Alley? _Focus,_ Hermione thought furiously.

“It’s ‘wattlebird,’” she said, “but that’s not the point--” *

The portrait hole had opened at her words, however, and she lost her chance to scold them any further as they were pulled in by a sea of Gryffindors, all of whom seemed thrilled that Harry and Ron had almost gotten killed. She was happy to see, at least, that Percy looked just as severe as she did. The boys seemed to notice this too, because they quickly whispered their goodbyes to her and ducked up the dormitory staircase, leaving her silently fuming.

* * *

“Hermione?”

The girl in question jumped at the noise, rearing her head around to see Ron emerging from the top of the boy’s staircase. She’d been sitting in her favorite chair by the fire long after everyone else had finally gone to bed, still trying to process the fact that her two best friends had flown a car to school. If they kept up like this, they were sure to be expelled. Hermione couldn’t imagine a Hogwarts without Harry and Ron. now that she’d had a taste of true friendship, the thought of having to give it up was terrifying. It was this thought that caused her to snap at Ron’s approaching figure. “What are you doing up? I figured you’d be tired from your little ‘trip’ today,” she said scathingly.

“Er, still mad at us then?” said Ron nervously.

“Mad? _Mad?_ I’m  _furious_ Ron! You could have been killed! You’re lucky you didn’t get _expelled!_ What were you _thinking?”_

“You’re being a bit unfair, Hermione. You don’t even know the whole story! See, the barrier was sealed shut. We had no choice, really. I mean, I suppose Harry could have sent Hedwig, but at the time--”

Hermione didn’t let him finish. She sprang up from her seat and stomped over to him so that she was standing right in front of him, pointing a finger at him menacingly. Ron noticeably gulped.

As she looked up into his wide eyes, her hand slowly returned limply to her side, the angry words she had meant to scream at him leaking away. “I’m glad you’re alright,” she said hotly, marching past him and disappearing up to her own dormitory, refusing to look back to see his reaction. 

*quotes taken from page 84 of the USA edition of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_


	4. A Furry Little Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 13, "The Very Secret Diary," of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

“Harry couldn’t come,” Ron said briskly, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione’s nightstand. “Wood’s already started practices again. Harry says he’s determined to win the cup this year.”

The new term had started just a week before, when the rest of the students came pouring back into the castle, bursting with excitement from the holiday. Ron knew how upset Hermione had been when she realized her whiskers weren’t going to go away in time for her to return to classes. As a result, he and Harry were alternately taking turns to copy an extra set of notes for her in their lessons.

“Did you _color-code_ these?” Hermione gasped, fingering through their work.

“Well that’s how you like them isn’t it?”

“Well...yes. But I didn’t expect you to--oh never mind. Thank you, Ron.”

He shrugged in what he hoped was an “it was nothing” way. On the contrary, it had actually taken him several hours of extra work to get the notes just the way she liked them. _She had better be pleased after I went through all of that,_ he thought bitterly. Rather then voicing this, however, he simply said, “No problem. Harry refused to listen to Binns, though, even for you. So then I tried, but after five minutes I’d had enough of that to last me for the next five years.”

He watched as she turned to the bit of parchment labeled as the History of Magic notes. On the top were carefully written bullet points on one of the goblin rebellions. About one quarter down the page, however, and the notes abruptly came to end, followed up only by scribbled games of knots and crosses and hangman. “But this looks really important!” She said, sounded far too disappointed, in Ron’s opinion.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing when I beat Harry in that third game,” he responded, staring over her shoulder.

“I meant the _rebellion,_ Ron. Honestly if you would just pay more attention you’d realize....”

“Skip the lecture, please, Hermione.”

“Fine,” she scoffed, returning all her books to the side table and lowering her voice. “Have you got any more leads then? You know, on who the heir is?”

Ron sighed. The truth was, they were about as close to figuring out who the heir of Slytherin was as he was to beating Hermione in the end-of-the-year exams. In other words, nowhere close at all. What upset him even more than that was that it was definitely not Malfoy. Dreams of Malfoy getting expelled had been the main factor in his agreeing to use Polyjuice Potion in the first place. His apparent lack of knowledge on the subject, therefore, had come as a real blow.

“I’ll take that as a no,” said Hermione sympathetically, staring at him. “I’m sad it wasn’t Malfoy as well, you know. But since it isn’t, we’ve just got to move forward and try to solve it from another angle.... It’s a shame, really, I’d have loved to have caught Malfoy for something.”

 _She doesn’t know the half of it._ Although he and Harry had told her at length of their hour in the Slytherin common room, they’d conveniently decided to leave out the bit where Malfoy had admitted he wanted her dead. _“I hope it’s Granger”_ had been ringing around in Ron’s ears ever since the polyjuice potion wore off. Before that day, he hadn’t even considered _Hermione_ being taken away by the monster.

Yes, she was muggle-born, and the heir of Slytherin was targeting muggle-borns...he must have known all along, in some crevice of his mind, the possibility of something happening to her. The idea however, had never formulated itself in his brain, and now that it was creeping its way in, he didn’t like it one bit. The past week of classes _alone_ without Hermione had felt strange, but if anything ever happened.... The feeling was strongly reminiscent of last year, when he’d thought Harry was going to die trying to save the Sorcerer’s Stone. Just the mere thought of losing either one of his best friends completely terrified him.

“Ron are you even listening to me?”

“Huh? Oh, er, sorry.”

She shook her head at him. “I was _saying_ that there has to be something we’re missing, something we didn’t see before. _Think._  Who else at school would want to attack muggle-borns?”

“How am I supposed to know? You’re the one who’s good at this kind of thing, Hermione.” He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw her blush slightly underneath the prominent layer of fur still covering her face. Though her eyes were slowly returning to their regular shade of brown, and both her whiskers and tail were receding, she still bore several distinctly cat-like features. Ron had made the mistake of laughing about this unfortunate fact on more than one occasion...Hermione still had yet to see the humor in the situation.

“So, erm, how are you feeling?” He asked hesitantly.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed almost immediately. “If you’re going to make fun of my-”

“I wasn’t! Honest, Hermione, I was only trying to make conversation!”

Their eyes locked upon one another, and for several minutes they simply stared. “Oh. Well, alright then,” said Hermione finally, “In that case, I’m fine.” There was a sizable pause, then, “I just hate being a cat! I hate missing classes and I hate being covered in fur and I hate trying to sleep with a tail and I hate having to sit around in bed all day waiting for you and Harry to come and visit me!” She said this all very fast, as if she’d been wanting to say it for days but hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to do it. Ron noticed with dismay that she looked about ready to burst into tears.

For a second he was horribly reminded of the last time she had cried in front of him, trying to wake him up from McGonagall’s giant chess game, and the time before that, before they were friends: Halloween. He didn’t do well with criers. Ginny had never been weepy. In fact, the only time he could recall Ginny crying at all was when she was six and George had pushed her off her broomstick. The idea, therefore, of trying to comfort a crying Hermione, was unpleasant at best.

“Um, maybe I should leave...,” He mumbled hurriedly. By now tears were silently following in a steady stream down each of Hermione’s cheeks. At his words she wiped them away quickly with her hands and pulled her knees up to her chin, looking thoroughly miserable. Bloody hell, he shouldn’t have said that. _She tells you she waits all day for you to come see her and then you decide to get up and leave!_ he reprimanded himself. He really was stupid.

“I’m s-sorry,” Hermione whispered, turning her tear-streaked face towards him, “I’m being silly. You can g-go if you want to.”

Ron wished Harry were there. Harry would have had the sense to pull him up and they’d have left right then and there, informing Hermione that they’d come back to see her the next day, when she had calmed down. But he couldn’t leave her now! No, against all of his internal wishes, he’d have to stay put. “I only meant...well...of course I’ll stay, I just....” He fell silent, at a loss for words.

Hermione was no longer looking at him, but running her fingers through the fur on her arm. “I just f-feel really u-ugly,” she sniffed.

“You’re not ugly,” He responded immediately. He’d said it without thinking, but after considering what it could imply, immediately wanted to take back the words. “No one thinks you’re ugly,” He barreled on quickly. “Don’t worry, Hermione, Madam Pomfrey will get you back to normal sooner or later.”

This apparently wasn’t the right thing to say, because Hermione burst into a fresh wave of tears: the exact opposite of what he’d meant his statement to do. “But what if it’s l-later?” She wailed.

Ron shrugged. “Then you’ll have to walk around as a cat for a while. People would probably think it’s really cool, actually...like you were on your way to becoming like McGonagall and turning into a cat whenever you pleased. You’d be the talk of the school, Hermione!”

In a wonderful twist of events, the ends of Hermione’s mouth tugged into a smile. “I probably already am the talk of the school,” she said miserably. Ron knew she was referring to all the students who had tried to catch a glimpse of her in the hospital wing at the start of term, thinking she’d been petrified. Eventually Madam Pomfrey had pulled up thick blue curtains around her bed to save her the embarrassment, but the damage had already been done. The entire school had gotten word that a second year had turned herself into a human cat.

“They got bored of it after a couple of days,” said Ron reassuringly. “Malfoy still finds it ridiculously funny, but he’s always been a git.”

At that moment, a frazzled looking Madam Pomfrey came hurrying around the curtains, stopping short upon seeing Hermione’s blotchy face and Ron sitting next to her bed. “Ah, Mr. Weasley, you’re still here,” She said, composing herself. “You best be getting back to your dormitory, it’s almost curfew. Besides, Miss Granger needs her rest if she wants to be back to her old self by February.” She left a potion on the side table for Hermione and bustled out again.

“February?”

“That’s when Madam Pomfrey thinks I’ll be normal again,” Hermione muttered, looking downcast.

“That’s not far away at all, Hermione! Don’t worry, Harry and I’ll keep taking notes for you. That way you’ll still be better than the rest of us when you come back to class.”

She grinned, and he pushed back his chair and stood up. “Ron?” came Hermione’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”


	5. Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes places during chapter 8, "The Flight of the Fat Lady," of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

“Hermione, hurry up!”

At the sudden noise Hermione jumped and tore her eyes away from Harry’s retreating figure. He had been casual enough on the way down to the entrance hall, but Hermione knew he mustn’t be feeling very fine. Obviously she wished he could come into the village with her and Ron, but given the situation with Sirius Black...really it was better if he stayed behind, especially on top of the fact that his permission form wasn’t signed. And there was always the Halloween feast later, and they’d bring him back loads of stuff.... _Stop thinking about Harry,_ she whispered to herself. This wasn’t the time to worry about him. She’d been looking forward to going to Hogsmeade ever since reading about it first year, and she deserved to enjoy it!

“On my way!” She called back, jogging to catch up to Ron on the path to the village.

“He’ll be fine. Harry, I mean,” he said, once she’d caught up to him. How was it that he knew she’d been worrying about him? Lately she’d been noticing how he was getting better at reading her moods. He was still completely oblivious most of the time, of course... that was just how Ron was. Every now and then, however, he did something that made her have a bit more faith in his abilities. Just the other night he’d come bounding into the common room just as she was putting the finishing touches on Professor Snape’s essay, and instead of interrupting her, and, like always, forcing her to lose her train of thought, he’d sat down and waited for her to talk to him first. Apparently this was another one of those times.

With a jolt she noticed he was still staring at her expectantly. “Right. Of course he will,” she said in response to his earlier statement. He _was_ right, too. Harry would manage.

They were nearing Hogsmeade now, as Hermione could see the buildings, growing ever closer as they approached. It was like a smaller version of Diagon Alley. A long row of shops extended far back, and signs pointed in every direction, trying to attract customers into the various stores. The older Hogswarts students dispersed immediately, whispers of going for a butterbeer or buying Zonko’s products following in their wake. The third years, on the other hand, remained on the edge of the village, mesmerized. It seemed no one knew where to head first.

“Want to go to Honeydukes?” Ron suggested finally, breaking up her thoughts. He was pointing to one of the nearest cottage-like shops, its windows laden full of sweets unlike anything she’d seen before. She gave a nod of consent and they hurried inside. Row upon row was layered with everything from sugar quills to sugar mice. She even caught a glimpse of a crate labeled “cockroach clusters” in the far corner. Ron had already headed straight for a large barrel of chocolate frogs. “Which one do you think is lucky?” He said, gesturing towards each individually wrapped frog, “I’m trying to finish my collection.”

Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Ron’s dedication to his chocolate frog card collection rivaled his obsession with the Chudley Cannons. All the same she plucked one of the packages out of the barrel and held it out to him. “We better get some for Harry, too,” She said, moving over to the shelves. They spent the better part of an hour skimming over all their options, and left the shop with a large bag filled with sweets.

Ron immediately dug out his chocolate frog and opened it with a flourish. “Ugh, Dumbledore again,” he moaned at the sight of the card. “You should have it, Hermione,” he told her, recovering from the initial disappoint. “You know, in case you ever forget who Nicholas Flammel is....”

“Like that’ll happen,” she replied sarcastically looking up to meet his eyes, he was grinning at her. It was the same grin she’d seen countless times before, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t a grin in exchange for her finishing his homework, or because they were reuniting after she’d been petrified for months, it was just a grin because he was having a good time. A good time with _her._ Her heart did a odd sort of flutter and she actually _blushed_. Immediately Hermione snatched the card from his hand and looked away, pulling her sweater around herself tightly and hoping he thought the chill in the air was what was making her cheeks rosy.

She shouldn’t be blushing for _Ron._ Ron was her best friend. She’d never even thought for a second of them being anything _but_ friends. Best friends at the most. Lavender and Parvati were always going on about their latest crushes in the girls’ dormitory, but she stayed out of the conversations. Needless to say she had more practical things to do then fawn over various guys for a week at a time. At the start of term Parvati had spent a good hour going on about how cute Harry was. She’d been so embarrassed by it that she’d have gotten up and left...if it hadn’t been nearing midnight. And the next morning she couldn’t even look at Harry without wanting to burst out laughing at the voice inside her head, echoing out Parvati’s words on his “vibrant personality.”

No, the only person she’d ever fancied, or rather, longingly admired, before had been Lockhart... and that had turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of her life. He had turned out to be such a phony that after that she’d sworn to herself she’d come to her senses. Of course that had been last year... before Ron had let his hair grow out longer and he’d spent the summer writing to her from Egypt and his eyes had gained that sparkle, or had it always been there and she’d never realized?.... _Shoot! What was she doing?_

Quickly Hermione thought back to all the romantic films she’d seen with her parents, and all the fairytales she’d been read as a child. She certainly wasn’t naïve enough to believe life was a fairytale. Her parents, for example, had gotten into a fair few very nasty fights. But she also knew that her Dad sometimes surprised her Mum with flowers, and they’d laugh for hours about a joke they’d keep repeating to one another, and they’d kiss every night when they got home from fixing people’s teeth. Doing any of that with, well, _Ron,_ seemed utterly absurd. She was even shuddering at the mere thought.

Hermione chanced a glance at him again. He was rambling on now about Zonko’s and leading her towards the shop. She nodded occasionally to make it seem like she was listening, suddenly feeling awkward next to him, self-conscious, even. Merlin, this couldn’t be happening. _Ron?_ Out of all the boys at Hogwarts her mind had had to settle for one of her two friends. This had to be some bizarre passing phase, like Lockhart had been. She was sure of that. Even now, the rational part of her mind was telling herself that fancying Ron was perhaps the most ludicrous thing she’d ever done. But yet her heart was still stupidly _fluttering._ She couldn’t bear the thought of ruining their friendship just because of her fleeting hormones. She’d have to control herself.

“Do you want to go the Shrieking Shack?” She managed to ask, following slightly behind him as they left the joke shop. He shrugged.

“Yeah, sure. Then we can go to The Three Broomsticks... Fred and George swear by butterbeer.”

They set off towards the patch of land leading up to an overlook of the Shrieking Shack. The crumbling structure looked forlorn even from a distance, its windows boarded up and an eerie sort of feeling seeping out of it. She couldn’t help it, she shuddered.

Ron, unfortunately, noticed. “You can’t be scared of an _old house,_ Hermione?”

“Says the boy who can’t get within a four yard radius of a _spider,_ ” she shot back. “Besides there’s all kinds of stories about the Shrieking Shack. I’ve read all about it, and it’s said to be the most haunted dwelling in Britain. The villagers have seen all kinds of things....” She went on, reciting all the things she could remember about the shack, all the while knowing Ron didn’t care in the slightest. It was a nervous habit of hers, to ramble, and the thought of having _feelings_ towards Ron was certainly making her nervous.

“Alright, Hermione, I get it. Sorry I made fun of your fear.” _God I’m ruining our friendship already,_ she thought bitterly. Ron wasn’t upset, however, but laughing and shaking his head, looking from the shack to her and back again. Before she knew it she was laughing as well, dashing back up the path to go check out The Three Broomsticks.

“Laugh about the spiders all you want, Hermione, but they’re devious. Their minds work in twisted ways!” Ron called from behind her. Hermione only laughed harder.

“I don’t think spiders have got minds Ron.”

“Clearly you’ve never met Aragog.”

She reached the door first and pulled it open. The place was packed with Hogwarts students, but they were able to find a seat in the corner. A curvy and very pretty bartender who introduced herself as Madam Rosmerta came over to their table, and Ron immediately ordered two butterbeers, talking far too quickly, his eyes filled with an almost glazed look about them. By the time she’d returned with their drinks his ears had gone red. Of course he’d fancy the bartender. Hermione tried for it not to, but her mood lessened greatly as she watched the woman move on to some other customer, distaste for her already growing.

The butterbeer warmed her up instantly. It was unlike anything she’d ever drank before, and something about it was very calming. “We’ve got to go back soon,” Ron said, sipping his drink. _Right._ Back to Hogwarts, where Harry had been all this time, probably sitting in the common room, staring at his homework and knowing he should do it, but instead thinking about all he was missing out on.... All of sudden she felt horrible.

“Harry’s fine, Hermione.” There he was again, Ron, somehow knowing what she was thinking. “Next time we can sneak him out, there has to be some way.”

Hermione let out a gasp. “Ron! I can’t believe you’d say that! With Sirius Black on the lose! Harry is safer at school, McGonagall said it herself.”

“What’s life without a little risk Hermione?”

“You won’t have a life, you’ll _die_ because you acted stupid by taking a risk in the first place!”

“Fine! we won’t sneak him out then!” He snapped.

“Good,” she said simply. “Come on, we should start heading back. We don’t want to miss the feast.”

With another not-so-sly look back at Rosmerta, Ron got up and lead the way out. She wondered if he realized this was the two year anniversary of their friendship. Two years since the troll in the bathroom. He probably hadn’t even thought about it, he wasn’t really all that sentimental, yet it was the only thing _she_ could think about on the trek back to the school. Where would they be in another two years? For just a moment her mind wandered to holding hands and frequent kissing.... She really _was_ mental.


	6. Tested Friendships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally figured out how to post to Ao3 without it being terrible (AKA I discovered the Rich Text Format)...yeah, I'm an idiot. Anyway, that means I'm finally going to actually start posting here again. Oops.
> 
> So without further ado, this chapter takes place during ch. 15, "The Quidditch Final," of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

The longer she stared at them, the more the words of Hermione’s Ancient Runes book seemed to blur. She was trying her best to finish off her homework translations, but to no avail. It was, after all, very hard to concentrate when all she could think about was how stupid she was. For one thing, she shouldn’t have taken up so many classes. Her steadily increasing workload was so overwhelming that even the pride she usually felt when completing an essay or doing particularly well on an assignment had lost its appeal, replaced only by gratitude that she was finally able to go to bed. Even then, the tight schedule set out by the time-turner prevented her from getting anything more than a few hours of sleep, and as a result she felt permanently tired.

  
Of course, in a sort of twisted way, Hermione was happy that she had so much work to do, as it was usually enough to distract from her more pressing issues, like the fact that she had lost both her friends in less than a day. Originally Harry and Ron had only been mad that she’d reported to McGonagall about the Firebolt... which was something she could deal with. It was better to have them mad at her than for Harry to get hurt from a jinxed broomstick... or at least that’s what she’d told herself. She’d still been lonely, of course, but nothing compared to how she felt now. Then, at least, she had known that they would eventually come around, especially after Harry had been given his Firebolt back. And she had been right, last night they’d been perfectly willing to apologize. But then Scabbers had gone missing and everything had spiraled out of control. After losing her temper at Harry about it that morning, it seemed unlikely that he’d be talking to her anytime in the near future, and Ron seemed so upset that she doubted he’d _ever_ be speaking to her again.

  
_Ron_. His name seemed to hang in the air around her. She had been stupid for fancying him in the first place... but she was being even more ridiculous by still fancying him now. She was furious with him, so shouldn’t her feelings for him have disappeared completely? Instead they seemed to have only escalated until he was all she could think about. He had had no right to accuse Crookshanks of anything while there was no proof her cat had done anything wrong! Just because he had hated Crookshanks since day one didn’t give him the right to point fingers at the animal as soon as something bad happened to his rat. While deep down Hermione knew that Crookshanks probably _had_ eaten Scabbers, there was no way she would give Ron the satisfaction of her apologizing. By doing this, however, she was left thoroughly miserable.

  
From the little she managed to get out of Ginny, she’d gathered that Ron was taking the loss of Scabbers very hard. This fact only escalated her already present unhappiness. While he had always complained about the rat, Hermione knew that Ron had cared about Scabbers a lot more than he let on. She had never felt so guilty in her life, and she hadn’t even done anything except buy a cat that was perhaps a little too enthusiastic over rats. Merlin’s beard, she just wanted to talk to him again!

  
But that was out of the question. Completely out of the question. Just because she was feeling lonely didn’t mean she had to give up completely and apologize when he was the one who was being an idiot. With a sigh, she returned to her schoolwork, preparing to block out everything that could remind her of Ron and finally focus, when she heard footsteps coming down from the boys’ dormitory above.

  
Low and behold, it was _him_ , wearing his too short pajamas and not looking at all surprised to see her still up. Hermione immediately began throwing her books back into her bag and calculating the quickest way out of the room and up to her dormitory. “Goodnight Ron,” she whispered, pulling her bag onto her shoulder and cutting across the common room past him, purposefully avoiding his eyes.

  
“Hermione,” he said curtly from behind her. As if his voice was magnetic, she instantly swiveled back around. Ron was not looking at her, instead staring determinedly at the far wall. It looked very much like he was he straining to draw up strong enough words to say to her. _Probably more snide comments about Crookshanks and Scabbers_ , she thought angrily. All he managed to say, however, was “Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

She had _failed_. Hermione couldn’t believe it. Even after all the books she’d read and all the notes she’d copied down on anything that might help Hagrid, he still hadn’t won his case. Her hands trembled as she once again read through the smeared letter he’d sent her that morning. “ _Execution date to be fixed_ ”*.... It was as if the line was mocking her, shouting at her that she’d failed not only herself but Hagrid and Buckbeak as well. Large splotches covered the parchment from Hagrid’s tears. Never in her life had she felt more miserable.

  
Ever since Ron and Harry had stopped talking to her, she’d been going down to see Hagrid more and more often. Just recently, the evening after Sirius Black had snuck into the common room and attacked Ron, she’d arrived crying on his doorstep, and he’d just fixed her some tea and, thoughtful, albeit horrible, rockcakes. After all Hagrid had done for her she couldn’t even return the favor. It was like receiving an F on an exam, except worse, because it affected more people than just her.

  
What was she supposed to do now? There would be an appeal... there was always an appeal... but she couldn’t really see anything changing as long as Lucius Malfoy had his say. The entire situation was rotten. She’d keep researching, obviously, even if it was all in vain, even if there wasn’t the slightest chance Buckbeak could be saved. And she’d go down to Hagrid’s as soon as possible and see if he was alright.

  
Another thought creeped its way into her mind. _Harry and Ron_. They’d want to know Hagrid had lost, that Buckbeak was going to die. Granted, neither one of them had helped him out themselves... but they had to still care. With a sigh Hermione rolled her books back into her bag and rubbed furiously at her wet eyes, standing up. She would have to tell them. Only after shuffling out into the corridor did she remember that it was a Hogsmeade weekend. Students were piling up the staircases, all returning from the village carrying bags filled with their purchases. She hadn’t gone to Hogsmeade herself since the day Harry had gotten the Marauder’s Map. It seemed pointless, really, to go without him or Ron, and besides, she couldn’t afford to waste any time that could otherwise be spent doing homework.

  
But Ron would have gone, and Harry too, probably. She’d _told_ them, _warned_ them he shouldn’t be sneaking out again... what with Black on the lose... he’d already snuck into he school once... but of course they most likely didn’t listen. Despite what she’d threatened, she knew she could never tell on them. If either one of them got into any _more_ trouble.... _Boys_.

  
Turning the corner, she saw them, walking side by side and looking thoroughly upset. She could feel herself trembling. This was it. She’d tell them and then she’d walk away, that’s all she needed to do. No need to apologize, at least not from _her_ end. Ron made a snide comment when she stopped in front of them, but it seemed to wash over her. With a shaking hand, she held out the letter and told them about the hippogriff’s scheduled execution, trying to keep it together, half expecting them to yell at her that she hadn’t done enough, to tell her what she already knew, how badly she must have disappointed Hagrid and Buckbeak.

  
Except they didn’t seem mad at _her_. Harry’s face was dropping in anger as he read the letter, and both of them seemed outraged at the Committee who’d worked on the trail. In their shock they appeared to have forgotten they were mad at her at all. Hermione could feel her eyes being blurred by tears once again. “They’ll be an appeal, there always is,” she whispered miserably to the pair of them, “Only I can’t see any hope.... Nothing will have changed.”*

  
“Yeah, it will,” said Ron suddenly. She looked up at him, praying to keep her emotions in check. “You won’t have to do all the work alone this time, Hermione. I’ll help.”*

  
That was all it took for her to completely fall apart and fling her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. He didn’t do anything but pat her on top of the head, but it didn’t matter... he was back to being Ron. _Her_ Ron. She could call them _both_ her friends again.

  
“Ron, I’m really, really, sorry about Scabbers,”* she weeped, pulling away. _So much for not apologizing_. Then again, she’d really meant it, she hadn’t just said it to get him to talk to her again. She’d been sincere just like she knew he was sincere when he said he’d help her. That was all that really mattered.

  
“Oh--well, he was old,”* Ron finished weakly, staring at her a bit funny. She looked between him and Harry, and managed to give them a watery smile. A whole lot more seemed possible when you had friends on your side... and when those friends were Ron and Harry, well, maybe Buckbeak would be saved after all.

*quotes taken from page 291-292 of the USA edition of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_


	7. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set during chapter 22, "Owl Post Again," of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

A _time-turner._ He’d spent the entire year wondering, theorizing, and that was the answer. A time-turner. Of course, it had only taken a trip down the Shrieking Shack, resulting in severe damage to his leg and the sudden need to rescue a man they’d, up until a few short hours before, had been sure was out to kill them, for Hermione to fess up about it. Ever since he’d woken up in a state of total confusion, and she’d relayed the entire story of what had happened since Snape had dropped them off at the hospital wing, he’d been sitting in bed, going over it all again and again in his head. 

  
Pettigrew had escaped. Harry had fought off a swarm of dementors with a patronus. He’d thought it was his dad but it was actually him all along. Sirius had been doomed to receive the dementors’ soul-sucking kiss. Hermione and Harry had rescued him using the time-turner. Buckbeak was safe too.

  
He would never tell either of them, because he knew he should be completely filled with relief at Sirius’ survival, and he was being petty, but he wished he could have gone with them and helped to save Sirius. Obviously they hadn’t exactly had the time of their lives running from a werewolf and waiting for the moment to break Sirius out of the tower he was locked up in, but the thought of Harry and Hermione going on an adventure without him was strange. He wondered if it had felt like that last year for Hermione, when she’d been petrified and missed going down to the Chamber of Secrets. Regardless, he was trying not to think about it too much... and blimey, his leg hurt!

  
Madam Pomfrey had fixed it up for the most part, but it still throbbed, and the potion she’d given him for pain didn’t seem to be working. Ron wasn’t sure whether it was this or his crowded thoughts that was keeping him awake. Across from him, Harry and Hermione appeared to be sleeping quite alright in _their_ beds. According to Pomfrey, they’d all be allowed to leave the hospital wing tomorrow. If only he could get some sleep.... With a heavy sigh, Ron slumped back against his pillows and closed his eyes.

* * *

“Ron?”

  
It took all Ron had not to let out a yelp at the sudden whisper as he sat up and fumbled around clumsily for his wand. The hospital wing was still dark, he couldn’t have been asleep for more than a hour. Standing over him, hardly visible to his eyes as they adjusted to the darkness, was Hermione. She was wrapped up in her nightgown, and her bushy hair seemed even crazier after having been sprawled across her pillow.

  
“What are you doing up?” He whispered back hastily, glancing over to the door that separated them from Madam Pomfrey.

  
She shrugged. Shaking his head, Ron sat up fully against his headboard and moved his legs so she could sit down on the edge of his bed. Across from them, Harry was still lying deep in sleep. “You alright?” he asked finally, watching as Hermione curled her legs up like a pretzel.

  
“I’m good.” She was eying him strangely again. It was a look he’d noticed her giving quite a lot lately... when her eyes would glaze over for a minute or two and she’d just look at him in a funny short of way. “How’s your leg?” she asked, when the moment had passed, “It looked awfully painful....”

  
“It was just a scratch,” Ron answered, with a shrug of his own.

  
“Then why aren’t _you_ asleep?”

  
“Well, okay, maybe it hurts a _bit_... but--hey! Why are you laughing at me?”

  
“I just wanted to see if you’d admit it,” Hermione grinned. “I knew it must hurt, or else you wouldn’t have been rustling around so much over there all night. Your groaning is all I’ve been hearing for the past _hour_.” She laughed again, but then seemed to realize the situation and drew silent almost immediately. “I mean... well of course I’m not happy you got hurt....”

  
“I don’t really think I’ve been _groaning_...,” Ron retorted. Hermione’s blush was visible even through the darkness.

  
“If only Pettigrew hadn’t have gotten away....”

  
“Ah, well, you can’t do everything. But given how many classes you took this year, _at the same time_ , you seem to think differently.”

  
“For goodness sakes Ron! I already _told_ you, I would have said something about the time-turner ages ago, only I swore to McGonagall I’d keep quiet. They can be quite dangerous, time-turners. If you meddle with time--”

  
“Okay okay, I get it. Sorry.”

  
“Well...good!”

  
Ron shifted his leg into a more comfortable position and rubbed his eyes, which were still tired. If it had been Harry who had woken him up he might have been able to just rolled over and snap at him to go back to bed...but it wasn’t as if he could do that to _Hermione_. “So are you ready for the end of term?”

  
Hermione shrugged. “I suppose so. It’ll be lovely to see my parents again, of course.” She paused and gestured around the room, “It’s just, being back home is strange after all this. I mean how do I explain to them that I spent the year trying to protect one of my best friends from being killed by a murderer out to get him, who turned out to be his godfather and actually not out to get him at all? Not to mention that your pet rat turned out to be responsible for the death of Harry’s parents and we all almost got our souls sucked out by a pack of angry dementors. They’d never let me come back to school if I told them all of that! They don’t really understand magic, see, so I never know how much to tell them. Does that make me crazy, Ron? That I’m away from my parents for an entire year and when I get to see them again I can barely think of anything to even say to them?”

  
Ron thought about it. “Nah, I wouldn’t know what to talk to my parents about either, if they didn’t get magic. Just tell them about the stuff that doesn’t have to do with Sirius...like how you aced all your exams and got over 100% in all your lessons and bought a demonic cat....”

  
“ _Ron!_ ” Hermione hissed.

  
“What? I was only joking! Cheer up, at least you won’t be bombarded with questions. _My_ mum and dad will want to know all about Sirius’ escape. Snape told Fudge that we went after him, didn’t he, that we thought we could catch him “single handedly”? Mum’ll be furious with me. And it’s not exactly like I can go and tell them that Sirius is innocent, can I? I haven’t got any proof to back it up, and the _Prophet_ will have printed Snape’s version.... I’d probably only be in _more_ trouble.”

  
“You don’t think they’ll be _too_ upset with you though, do you?” She sounded concerned.

  
“Can’t say. You never know... they might pull me out of school... force me to live without magic... ban me from the Burrow....” Hermione slapped him hard in the arm. Ron laughed.

  
“Nah. I’ll just remind Mum of all the horrible stuff Fred and George have done and they’ll forget about it soon enough.”

  
“You’re lucky you’ve got so many siblings.”

  
Ron shrugged, “I guess. But what we’re _both_ lucky for is that we haven’t got cousins like Dudley.” Together they craned their necks to see across to Harry. Hermione nodded vigorously. No doubt, Harry had it the worst. “Maybe Mum’ll let you two come to my place this summer. The Quidditch World Cup is in Great Britain this year, and Dad can probably get us tickets from work. I mean, you know, only if you want to come....”

  
Hermione was beaming at him. “I’d like that. Holy cricket!” She had looked down and was reading her wristwatch through the darkness, “We have to get up soon! I better go back to sleep....”

  
“Can’t you just, er, _rewind time_ , to get a few more hours kip?” He asked in response, smiling innocently.

  
Hermione jumped up and grabbed the pillow from the bed next door to throw at him. “Oh shove off Ron!”


	8. A New Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to Goblet of Fire! This chapter takes places during ch. 3, "The Invitation."

“Mum, calm down, I’ve already packed! I packed _yesterday_ , remember?” Hermione shook her head and carried her bags into the sitting room, tossing them on the sofa. Ron had owled her that they’d be there at noon, and it was already half past eleven.

  
“ I know, dear, but I was just making sure. You don’t want to keep Ron’s family waiting, especially when they were so kind as to come and get you. Not to mention that they’re letting you stay with them until the new term starts, and taking you to this quadritch thing--”

  
“Quidditch. It’s called quidditch,” corrected Hermione instantaneously, laughing to herself at what Harry and Ron would do if they heard it pronounced “quadritch”.   
“Right, well regardless it’s nice of them to take you. You’ll thank them, won’t you?”

  
“Of _course_ , Mum! It’s not like this is the first time I’ve left the house!” Her mother narrowed her eyes dangerously. “...Sorry. I just meant, I don’t know why you’re worrying so much. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  
There was a pause before Hermione was caught off guard by a tight hug from her mother. “You’re right, I’m being silly. I just get nervous, I don’t see you very often and...,” She trailed off, “Well I’ll just run and get your father then, I think he’s still upstairs debating what t-shirt will intimidate Ron the most.....”

  
Hermione sat down as her mum left the room. If her dad was going to be so obnoxious...well it’s not like she hadn’t been expecting it. Ever since she’d gotten the invitation to stay at the Weasley’s her father had been against it, asking her a million questions about Ron and their “relationship”. No matter how many times she _insisted_ they were just friends, and Harry would be there too, he just couldn’t see reason.

  
Just then there was a burst from the fireplace and Mr. Weasley appeared, followed shortly by Ron’s brothers, Fred and George. Hermione couldn’t help herself, she peered around them and stared at the flames, waiting for Ron, who was taking far too long to arrive.... Mr. Weasley seemed to read her mind. “Molly’s having Ron clean his room up.” He beamed and looked around, clearly fascinated by the television near the window.

  
“I’ll go call my parents, I don’t think they heard you arrive,” Hermione said, trying to hide her disappointment. She was being stupid, she’d see Ron in ten minutes, it shouldn’t matter that he couldn’t come pick her up.

  
She found her Mum and Dad on their way down the stairs. “The Weasley’s are here.”

* * *

When they got back to the living room Mr. Weasley was on his knees examining the plug to the lamp. “Ah,” he said cheerfully, standing up and holding out his hand to Hermione’s parents, “Arthur Weasley. So good to see you again.”

  
“So which one of you is Ron?” Hermione’s father chimed in, looking past Mr. Weasley to Fred and George. Even after his wife elbowed him in the arm and sent him a look, his stern gaze remained.

  
“Ron couldn’t make it, Dad,” Hermione said quickly. “These are his brothers, Fred and George.”

  
“Yes indeed,” Mr. Weasley added, before Fred or George could comment. “Well I hate to take your daughter away from you so soon, but we best be heading back. I could only arrange with the ministry for your fireplace to be connected to the floo network until half past twelve. Besides, Molly’s fixing lunch as we speak!”

  
“It’s not a problem. Hermione’s been looking forward to staying with you ever since Ron sent her the invitation. It’s all she can talk about lately!”

  
They chatted for several more minutes, Hermione’s father standing stonily beside them. It wasn’t until Mr. Weasley began talking animatedly about his plug collection that Fred and George reminded him of lunch and he reluctantly pulled out the bag of floo powder.

  
After very lengthy goodbyes, the twins left with her bags and school trunk, and after even more hugs from her parents, finally she too escaped into the green flames of the fire. Of all the ways to travel, floo powder was at the bottom of Hermione’s list. She’d only tried it once before, but this go around was not better in the slightest. No matter how careful she was to tuck in her arms, somehow her elbows still got scratched upon the brick of the fireplace, and so much soot fell in to hair that she doubted whether she’d be able to get it all out after even _ten_ showers. Just as she was contemplating this, the short trip ended, and she found herself staggering out of the Weasley fireplace and into a sitting room far different from her own.

  
Fred and George had disappeared and left her bags on the couch, next to a pair of needles that were, quite on their own, knitting what appeared to be a scarf. The room itself was messy in a way that was still inviting--cluttered, but not dirty. An old radio rested in the corner, next to a bookshelf filled with cookbooks and, to Hermione’s amusement, Gilderoy Lockhart’s complete collection, which seemed to be collecting dust on the bottom shelf. Squashed in between the sofa and a large and rather comfortable looking rocker was a wooden side table crammed full of moving photographs, all resting in mismatched and old-fashioned picture frames. Above the table, on the wall, was a framed newspaper clipping of the family in Egypt.

  
Hermione’s eyes fell upon a picture in the front, one of six young boys laughing as they rolled around in the grass. She could pick out Ron almost immediately, the smallest of the bunch, looking to be no older than five, laughing heartily in the arms of who she assumed to be either Bill or Charlie. Next to it was larger photo of Ron when he was eleven, grinning proudly and holding up his Hogwarts acceptance letter as Ginny looked on in excitement.

  
“Fred and George had me convinced I was a squib, the gits.”

  
Hermione jumped a foot in the air in surprise and wheeled around to face the present-day Ron, who was laughing at her shock. There was a burst of green from the fireplace and Mr. Weasley emerged, dusting himself off with one hand and pouring the extra floo powder into a bowl on the mantle with the other. “Make yourself at home, Hermione. I better go see if Molly needs helps with the sandwiches....”

  
“Come on, I’ll show you around,” said Ron, gesturing to Hermione. She followed him out of the room and into the kitchen behind Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley was at the counter arranging sandwiches on a large platter.

  
“Good, you’re back. I was beginning to worry. Oh, Hermione! How are you dear? Hungry? You’re looking so thin...Well, I’m almost done with lunch, it’ll just be a few more minutes.... Ron can show you to Ginny’s room in the meantime, we brought in the camp bed and thankfully there’s still plenty of space.”

  
“Thank you so much for letting me stay, Mrs. Weasley.”

  
“Oh it’s not a problem dear, we’re happy to have you here anytime. Ron, did you finish cleaning your room?”

  
“Well, it’s still in the process....” he replied smoothly, walking past her to the stairs, which seemed to be endless. “Mine’s at the very top,” he told Hermione as they began to climb. At every door they reached he explained whose room it was, despite the fact that most of them had nameplates on the door. Percy’s had a “Do Not Disturb” sign.

  
On the last landing, Ron led her into a small, violently orange bedroom. Besides a few small patches of wall that weren’t covered in posters, the entire room seemed to be all the one color, everything in it bearing the “Chudley Cannons” quidditch team insignia. It was so completely crazy and bright that it just _screamed_ “Ron”.

  
“They did better this year,” Ron stated proudly, gesturing to a poster showing three players in orange robes racing toward the goalposts, “Weren’t even last in the league.”

  
Hermione laughed a little and sat down on the camp bed set up for Harry. Ron sprawled himself across his bed. “What made you like them so much in the first place?” She asked curiously.

  
Ron shrugged. “Dad took me to see them once, when I really wanted to go to a game. We couldn’t afford any of the big teams, but the Cannons were doing so badly that he was able to get tickets on the cheap. Turns out it was their best game of the season, Westerfield caught the snitch right under the other team’s nose and--”

  
“I think you’re in love, Ron,” she interrupted jokingly.

  
There’s was a loud hooting from the window and a small ball of owl appeared through the glass. Hermione recognized him immediately as the owl Sirius had given to Ron at the end of last year. “Pig,” Ron said simply, walking over to let him in, “...Ginny named him. I tried to change it to something better but he won’t answer to anything else.” Pig fluttered inside happily, bouncing around the room with zealous. “He’s a bit annoying, really, never shuts up.” Ron led him to his cage with an owl treat and slammed the cage shut unceremoniously. A photo that had been resting in front of it descended to the floor. As Ron moved to pick it up, Hermione caught a glimpse and recognized it in an instant. After all, she’d just sent it to him earlier in the summer.

  
The picture was one of the two of them and Harry, sitting by the fire in the common room sometime last year. They were all smiling brightly at the camera, and from an outsider’s point of view, they probably just appeared to be three regular thirteen-year-olds--without Sirius Black or Buckbeak or violent pets or any of the number of other things that had occurred to them last term. Hermione had asked Seamus to take it on her camera so she’d have pictures to show her parents of what Hogwarts was like. Once she’d gotten it developed she’d loved it so much that she’d sent it to both of them. It was probably the only photo in the entire house that didn’t move.

  
Standing up and walking over to the window, Hermione saw that it was facing a huge backyard covered in flowers and bushes. To the left she could even almost make out a lake. “Your house is wonderful,” she said, spinning around and breaking the silence. Ron looked up from rearranging the picture, the tips of his ears already turning scarlet.

  
“Well...it’s not much. You can’t get a minute of privacy, and it’s more crowded than usual because Bill and Charlie are here....”

  
“It’s perfect.”

  
There were loud footsteps on the stairs and Ginny suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Mum says lunch is ready. Oh hello, Hermione.”

  
“Hi Ginny!”

  
“I’d get down there quickly, if I were you,” she added, turning back to Ron, “When I went to get Fred and George they were already plotting how to talk to Mum about WWW.”

  
“What’s--?”

  
“Long story. I’ll tell you about it on the way down,” Ron said simply, leading her out towards her first meal at the burrow.


	9. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 18, "The Weighing of the Wands," of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

“Well, what I don’t understand is why Dumbledore is making him compete. I’ve read about the Triwizard Tournament, of course, and the people whose names come out of the goblet are put under a magical obligation to participate, but I figured, surely, _Dumbledore_ would be able to get him out of it. I mean, particularly because it’s so clear that Harry didn’t put his name in. And then there’s the question of who _did_ put it in, and why. I’ve been thinking about it and--Ron? Ron are you even listening to me?”

  
Ron raised his head from his bowl of oatmeal to look at her. He had the rather rugged appearance of someone who had quite literally rolled out of bed, with hair askew and bags under his eyes. In all honesty he _had_ sat up half the night, feeling miserable, and had awoke only to find himself feeling even more terrible. “Can we please not talk about this.” He could feel Hermione’s eyes boring into him even after he’d looked away, back down onto his breakfast.

  
“Sure. We can talk about why you’re acting so strangely instead. What’s gotten into you?"

  
Taking another bite out of his toast, Ron didn’t bother answering. Even food couldn’t lift his spirits, however...the bread tasted hard in his mouth and he had to swallow it down with a gulp of his morning pumpkin juice.

  
“It has something to do with Harry, doesn’t it? Oh don’t act all surprised, I saw your face when Dumbledore called his name yesterday. You can’t honestly believe he put his own name in that goblet?”

  
“He might have!” Ron argued back, more to convince himself than Hermione. It was a lot easier to be mad at Harry under the illusion that he’d entered his own name. His only other reason made him seem like a prat.

  
“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no way anyone under seventeen could have crossed that age line. _Dumbledore_ created it!”

  
“Yeah, that’s me, ridiculous,” he muttered, turning away from her and ignoring the other part of her statement altogether. He could tell Hermione was already getting frustrated. From the corner of his eye he could see her looking at him stubbornly, brown eyes fiery and arms crossed on the wooden table, her breakfast lying forgotten in front of her.

  
“I didn’t say you were ridiculous, I said you were acting ridiculous,” she retorted angrily.

  
“Bloody hell Hermione, can’t you just stay out of this?” Ron snapped, fully expecting her to get up and storm away to go find Harry. He could tell she was getting steadily more upset with him by the minute. Maybe he’d hold some kind of record... the first bloke to have lost both his friends in less than twenty-four hours. The sad thing was, he wouldn’t blame either of them.

  
Hermione, however, did not leave her seat. “Oh for heaven’s sake Ron! Just because you’re _jealous_ doesn’t mean--”

  
He snapped back around to look at her. Some first years a bit farther down the table had heard their raised voices and scooted down further away from them. “I’m not jealous.”

  
Hermione’s whole face seemed to soften as she looked at him. He couldn’t even meet her eyes, he’d always been awful at lying.... “I know you know he didn’t enter.”

  
More people were beginning to drift into the Great Hall now, soon they wouldn’t be able to talk without interruption, and if Harry came down.... Slowly his eyes drifted up to meet hers, and a moment of understanding seemed to pass invisibly between them. “You must think I’m a git,” he said finally, when he couldn’t look straight at her anymore.

  
In a matter-of-fact tone Hermione stated, “No. But I do think you should work things out. Harry doesn’t ask for this stuff to happen, you know...it just sort of, does.”

  
Ron didn’t answer. That was the problem, that it happened to him. _Everything_ happened to him. Harry was the one who got all the credit for saving the Sorcerer's Stone and rescuing Ginny. It didn’t matter that he and Hermione had been there for most of it, too. Nowadays whenever those events were talked about, _they_ were conveniently left out, pushed aside, forgotten. Harry was the one remembered for winning Gryffindor the house cup and the one parties were held for in the common room every time he won a quidditch game with another dramatic, last-minute catch of the snitch. Sometimes, on their everyday walks to class, students from other houses would come up randomly to congratulate or compliment Harry on something or other, and not even bother to figure out his or Hermione’s names or even acknowledge their presence. And now Harry was destined to gain even more glory competing in the Triwizard Tournament. It didn’t matter that Harry didn’t want any of it, or that he couldn’t control his own fame, or that he would probably give his two best friends all the credit for those things happily, Ron still directed his anger towards him. After all, he was so fed up that he had to direct it somewhere, and there was no other real, viable option but Harry.

  
“I’m not going to just go apologize,” he said with finality. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why doesn’t it bother you?” he asked eventually. _Why was it only him?_ He thought he knew, in a way. Hermione was brilliant. All the teachers complimented her and showed off her work in lessons. She was just as wonderful and almost as well-liked as Harry, only distinguished in different ways, by different accomplishments. When the three of them were together, it was always her, the smart one, and Harry, the brave one, and him, dangling somewhere in between.

  
Hermione was giving a lengthy answer, but whatever she was trying to say, most likely advice, knowing her, quickly became background noise. The real problem wasn’t Harry or the Triwizard Tournament. It was himself, and all the things he could never be. It was everything he would never be able to measure up to. He didn’t get perfect papers or win quidditch games. He would never be school champion or go back in time saving people, and it was a shame that he couldn’t just blame the whole cruel world, for forcing him to meet such extraordinary people as if only to throw it back in his face that he was nothing but average.

  
At the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to go apologize to Harry. Admitting his numerous faults was almost worse than them sitting shut up in his head. He needed more time to think it all through, and if that meant taking out his frustration on Harry in the meantime, even though it was the easy way out, then so be it. Hermione was looking at him expectedly, apparently she’d finished her small rant. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked.

  
“I’ll just go take some toast to Harry,” she replied, in a voice that was far too sympathetic for his liking. The last thing he needed was her feeling sorry for him.

“Fine.” He watched her as she neatly stacked the toast on a napkin and bid him goodbye. As soon as she left, he felt even more alone.

* * *

He could hear her footsteps behind him, but it only urged him to walk faster...he’d thought he’d been doing such a good job of avoiding her. “Ron!” He had to repress a groan as he slowed down and turned. Seamus and Dean mimicked him to his right. Hermione came bustling over to them, wearing a wheat-colored jumper and a determined expression. “Do you mind if I talk to Ron?” she said evenly once she’d reached them. Seamus and Dean exchanged looks then shook their heads. 

“See you in class, Ron,” Dean said, patting his shoulder before continuing down the path with Seamus.

  
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he stated as nonchalantly as possible, beginning to walk again, this time with Hermione in tow. Her voice was not nearly as calm.

“Yes well, _maybe_ that’s because _you’re_ steering clear of me! Not to mention that _I’ve_ been the one helping our mutual best friend learn the summoning charm so that he doesn’t _die_ day after next!”

  
Ron stared at her. She did look mildly hysterical. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic? He’s not going to die.”

  
“ _Dragons_ , Ron! Dragons! They do have a tendency to be murderous, you know.”  

 

“I don’t think they let competitors die, Hermione. Is that all you came to tell me?” he added, a bit more stonily than intended, “that dragons are potentially lethal?”

  
Though her eyes narrowed slightly, Hermione gave no other acknowledgement to his tone. “No, you’re right, I got off the point. Look, Ron, the first task is in two days! Don’t you think you could maybe just swallow your pride and--”

  
He knew what was coming, she’d been hinting at it more and more all week. It was the same reason he’d been avoiding her, because he knew he couldn’t give her the answer she wanted. “No.”

  
“Come _on_ , Ron! It would help Harry, I know it would. He misses you...and I know you miss him.”

  
“I said no! Can’t you just let it go?”  

 

“Absolutely not. This is important. Please at least  _try_ to talk to him.”

  
She just didn’t get it. It wasn’t as easy as simply “talking” to Harry. Of course he wanted to have his best friend back. Seamus and Dean were great in a lot of ways, but both of them put together couldn’t measure up to Harry. Then again, he doubted very much that Harry would want _him_ back as his friend. “I can’t.”

  
“That’s not true, of course you can. We’ve made up loads of times, haven’t we?”

  
He thought about that for a while. “Look, I’ll think about it. Is that good enough for you?”

  
“Not really. But it’s certainly a start.”


	10. The Yule Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during Chapter 23 "The Yule Ball", of Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire.

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, trying to determine where to start. The more and more she looked at herself, the more hopeless she became. Why had Victor asked her to go with him in the first place? He was an _international quidditch player_ , he was _famous_ , he'd been in magazines and had figurines of himself sold to thousands. She was just her, plain and simple Hermione, who had no idea how to even _go about_ making herself pretty enough to be his date. She never even wore makeup and hardly so much as tied back her hair, which, per usual, was out of control.

With a sigh she turned to her four poster and the dress robes laid out carefully over the bedspread. They were a pale blue, and when she'd bought them over the summer she'd chosen them because they'd reminded her of Ron's eyes...which looking back had been a completely ridiculous idea. She was over Ron anyway. He had been a fleeting, childish crush. She almost wanted to laugh at how crazy she had been to even consider being anything but friends with him. Yes, a part of her had hoped he'd ask her to the Yule Ball, but as soon as Victor Krum had asked her to go with _him_ , the thought had completely fled her mind. There was no point in waiting around for someone who would never think of her like that. So she was over Ron. Completely.

Besides, Victor was great, and he actually liked her, or at least she assumed so, considering they were going to a ball together. He'd asked her one day outside the library, and she'd nearly dropped her books as she'd stammered out her "yes". She had already promised herself that she'd be much more composed tonight. Just thinking about dancing with him made her excited and nervous all at once. And then a thought crossed her mind that was very non-Hermione, which seemed to be happening quite a lot lately, and she wondered what it would be like to be kissed. Hermione didn't even know if he would try...did people do things like that on a first date? Was this even really considered a date? And what if she was lousy at it? Victor was eighteen (her father would probably have a heart attack if he ever found out), he was sure to have experience, but it wasn't like she'd went out with very many boys in the past. Or any. What if their noses hit or she accidentally sneezed as he was making a move? She would not only be absolutely humiliated, but her first kiss would be ruined as well.

Similar thoughts danced across her mind as she pulled on her dress robes. The fabric was particularly silky and the robes themselves clenched a little at the waist. She smiled at her image as she turned back to the mirror. There was a sharp knock on the door and it creaked open to reveal Lavender, Parvati, and Ginny, the only person she had told directly who she was going with. Ginny beamed at her, she, too, already dressed in flowing, gold dress robes that despite being dated, looked quite pretty. At just thirteen Ginny was already beautiful, and, despite herself, Hermione suddenly found herself wishing her hair was as silky and her body as slim as her friend's. It wasn't like her to fret too much over her appearance, but then again it also wasn't like her to be dreaming about first kisses or to have an actual boy waiting to take her to a dance. "Do you think you can help me?" she asked the redhead. "You know, with my hair?"

"Why do you think I'm here?" Ginny laughed, picking up the small bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion beside her on the bed. "Are you going to straighten it?"

"Well that's the plan," Hermione said simply, ignoring Lavender and Parvati ogling in the background. She knew they'd been gossiping about her all week. Carefully, she sat down and allowed Ginny to unscrew the bottle and massage the potion into her thick curls, sincerely hoping it would work.

"It says we've got to wait five minutes for it to take effect before brushing it out," Ginny read off the label. Hermione nodded and turned to her dorm mates, who had both changed and were currently piling on their jewelry and talking loudly about their respective dates.

"Padma must still have my good necklace," Parvati complained loudly. "I'm going to go find her, I told her I wanted it back ages ago! Come with?" She added to Lavender, who nodded. Together they slipped on their heels, which neither could walk well in, and exited with a quick "See you both at the dance!"

"Do you think Harry really fancies her?" Ginny asked sadly after Parvati had slammed close the door.

Hermione shrugged. She might have passed _her_ stage of fancying Ron, but Ginny was still head over heels for Harry, she knew, even if she'd gotten better at hiding it. "I'm not really sure." It was true. While she, Harry, and Ron told each other practically everything, they'd hardly touched upon the subject of relationships before. She did know that Harry had asked Cho first, but she'd already been going with someone. Hermione would never disappoint Ginny by saying it, but she figured Cho was the one Harry really fancied. "I think he was just desperate to get a date at that point," she added quickly, seeing the crestfallen look on her friend's face.

Ginny seemed to perk up a bit as she pulled out a small book with a green leather cover. It was a beauty manual Mrs. Weasley had sent her a few weeks before, filled with various charms and tips for hair, makeup, and dress. Ginny flipped it open and showed her a page detailing how to do a simple up-do. "Do you think you can get the spell right?" Hermione asked nervously.

"I may not be as good as you, but I'm not hopeless," Ginny responded, pulling out her wand and running the brush through Hermione's hair. She practiced the wrist movement in the air a few times before pointing her wand directly at Hermione's scalp. Hermione closed her eyes tightly, then experienced the very odd sensation of her hair tying itself up of it's own accord as Ginny uttered the spell. Then Ginny set to work on her makeup. When Hermione finally opened her eyes and turned back to the mirror, she saw a completely different person's reflection, or, at the very least, a much prettier version of herself. Her hair, no longer bushy, was pulled back elegantly, the few pieces that hung down softy curled. She'd put in her best earrings for the occasion, her lips were shimmering in a soft pink gloss, and even her skin seemed to be aglow. That's when it hit her, she was actually going to the Yule Ball with a _boy_ , a very famous, handsome boy, as a matter of fact. Her nerves instantly rushed back to her, but the smile did not disappear. She felt just as beautiful as Ginny.

* * *

 

"I'm going to get some punch," Ron said sourly. Harry, naturally, ignored him, far too busy staring at Cedric and Cho as they danced. Ron wasn't sure who had come up with this whole "Ball" thing, but whoever had had been barmy. Padma and Parvati had abandoned them an hour ago to get some food with a couple of boys from Durmstrang and had never returned, and he and Harry had been sat at a table all night, silently pitying themselves, and, to an extent, each other, as they watched the people they'd really wanted to take dance with other, older, muscular blokes. It was even worse than a years worth of History of Magic lessons.

Unenthusiastically he dragged himself over to the drinks table, which unfortunately required weaving through the throng of students dancing to a particularly loud Weird Sisters' number. Just as he as was nearing the table, he spotted Fleur dancing with the boy she had brought, who seemed thoroughly put out at the number of guys who surrounded his date, and had to take a detour in the opposite direction to avoid utter humiliation. He had no idea what he'd even been thinking, asking a girl like that. As if he would ever be good enough for someone like her. Just look at him, he was wearing dress robes that had probably been out of date a hundred years ago, all frayed at the edges from his lousy attempt to hex off the lace. Ron would even say his night couldn't get any worse, but knowing his luck one of the chandeliers added to the Great Hall for the occasion would fall on his head, or else he'd catch Hermione and Krum snogging in the rose bushes before the night was up. Quite frankly he couldn't decide which would be more unpleasant.

Hermione was what was really bothering him. There, he'd admitted it. What was she doing with _Victor Krum? Quidditch player_ Victor Krum _?_ Everything about it annoyed him, from the way he called her "Herm-Own-Ninny" to the way they'd been dancing all night, to the way she'd un-bushed her hair for him. And all of it packaged into one had him fighting the urge to vomit. But, strangely, Harry didn't seem the least bit concerned that Hermione was out with Krum, which had allowed a tiny thought to cross Ron's mind, a thought that bothered him most of all: that he actually _fancied Hermione_. He'd tried to get rid of the idea, but every time his eyes landed on her dancing the thought resurfaced from the deep crevice in his mind to which it was wedged. It couldn't be true. He hated her with Krum because Krum was too old for her, too shallow for her. She deserved more than him, someone who could pronounce her name, he was sure to try and use her to thwart Harry, a thousand things before the fact that he liked her. But it was true wasn't it? He'd just admitted it. _He liked her._

He couldn't like _Hermione_. Sure she was brilliant, sure she laughed at even his stupid jokes and helped him with his homework even when she was mad at him. And yes, she did have rather nice brown eyes. And her teeth were perfectly proportional now that Madam Pomfrey had shrunk them down. And he loved the way her hair looked when she fell asleep in the common room after a long night of studying, how it flowed around her shoulders in all its bushy glory, or in the summer when it would frizz so much that she'd pull it up in a pony-tail in utter frustration to try to contain it. Her writing was small and uniform and he had it memorized from the long letters she'd send him over holiday and the notes she'd scrawl in the margins on his essays. She preferred tea to pumpkin juice and Christmas to Halloween and Fall to Spring. She looked bloody gorgeous in blue dress robes. And he liked her. A lot. It made him want to gag.

"Hey there, little brother," a familiar voice greeted, disrupting his train of thought. It was Fred, pouring out two glasses of red punch. Ron quickly diverted his eyes from the girl in blue dress robes they'd wandered over to. If Fred and George ever found out they'd never let him hear the end of it.

"For Angelina?" he asked, gesturing to the second glass of punch in Fred's hand.

"Nah, she's dancing with George. This," he said, holding up the glass, "this is for Alice." He turned his gaze to a girl Ron recognized as a fifth or sixth year blonde girl from Ravenclaw. At his brother's questioning look, Fred elaborated. "See, I asked Angelina to come with me because George has been going on about her for _months_ , and then at the last minute he became a scared prat and refused to ask her. So I did it for him. And then he got mad at me for asking her at all and decided to take Alice, because, well, look at her. Then, just now, see, I told Angie that George is _madly in love_ with her and _that's_ why I invited her, which really isn't too far off the mark, you should hear him talk. And she, being Angie, yelled at me a bit in anger, then went up to _him_ and took the piss for his being too scared to ask her out. Naturally, now they're dancing. So I'm over there pretending to be George to Alice."

Ron's eyes widened as he tried to wrap his head around the story. _"You haven't told her you're not really George?"_ he questioned, his eyes flickering back over the girl, who was innocently awaiting "George" to bring over her drink, unaware that he was actually now dancing with a completely different girl. Ron would probably have found it incredibly funny, if Hermione wasn't over there dancing with that lousy-

"Course not," Fred answered, grinning from ear to ear, 'What fun would that be?" He noticed the stony look on Ron's face and frowned, "What's up, Ronniekins? This is a case of the classic twin-swap, you're supposed to be rolling."

Ron didn't answer. Quite against his will his eyes had become glued to Hermione, her arms wrapped around Victor Krum's neck as they danced to a ridiculously slow song.

"Ah," Fred said knowingly, following his gaze. Ron wanted to kick himself. What had he been thinking? Everything his brothers could possibly do with Fred's newfound knowledge flooded his mind. What if they went and told Hermione what Fred had just told Angelina, that he was "madly in love with her"? He'd never live it down, he couldn't even bare the thought...frantically, he opened his mouth to spew some stupid excuse as to why he'd been locked on Hermione's swaying figure, but Fred was one step ahead of him. "Don't worry, I won't say a word." He offered an exaggerated wink and picked up Alice's drink. Then his voice softened as he looked over once more at Hermione and then back to Ron, "You'll get her one day, mate." Then he was gone.

 


	11. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 23 of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, "The Yule Ball"

"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"* Hermione promptly turned on her heel and stormed up to her dormitory before Ron could reply. This wasn't how the night had been supposed to go at all. She was supposed to be elated. Not only had she gone to a ball with _Victor Krum_ , she'd also _kissed_ Victor Krum. Her first kiss. It was overly girly and embarrassing to admit, but she'd dreamed of her first kiss being like the ones in films, where she'd come home blushing and spend the rest of the night dancing around in her bedroom to corny love songs.

That wasn't to say her kiss with Victor had been _bad_. Actually it had been quite good. She'd leaned the right way and kept her eyes closed and, even though it had lasted but a few seconds, a small little kiss, she didn't think she was all that bad at it. When he'd pulled away she'd even felt all floaty on the inside...though she wasn't really sure if that was because of actual feelings towards Victor, or just the fact that someone liked her enough to kiss her in the first place. Either way, it wasn't the kiss that was the problem, it was everything that had happened afterwards.

She and Victor had said goodbye on the grand staircase at the very end of the dance, and, not seeing either Ron, Harry, or Ginny, she'd made the trudge back to the common room alone. The common room was filled with lingering Gryffindors arriving back from the dance, as well as a few students from lower years waiting up to hear about the night. Hermione had decided to stick around until Ginny came back. She couldn't be much longer, after all, and Hermione really wanted to share what had just happened with Victor. Unfortunately for her, the wrong Weasley had walked through the portrait hole...Ron, who was probably the least likely person on the planet to want to hear about her kiss with Krum.

Hermione had a very long track record of fighting with Ron. They fought about everything under the moon, and most of their fights were petty and stupid...but never before had they had to fight about relationships. Hermione cringed as she yanked another bobby pin out of her hair, which had already come halfway undone. How many of these things had Ginny used? It even took a moment to realize her face was still scrunched up with anger from her dramatic exit. _Why had Ron had to go and ruin everything?_ She'd already been mad enough after what he'd said to her at the dance, but their yelling match below just sealed the deal...she was furious.

For one thing, Ron had absolutely no right to tell her what she could and could not do. "Fraternizing with the enemy"! Hmph! Clearly he didn't know her at all, because she'd never do anything that would damage Harry's chances of winning the tournament. There was absolutely no reason she shouldn't have been allowed to go to the dance with whomever she bloody pleased, and Victor was really a pretty good choice! Then he'd gone and started things up again in the common room and led her to say all those things and screwed everything up!

Her own angry words rang through her mind as she pulled on her pajamas. _"Ask me before someone else does!"_...gosh she was an idiot. Had that made her sound desperate, like she'd _expected_ him to ask her? Or even worse that she had hoped that he would? What if she had just unintentionally revealed all of her feelings to him? Not to mention implied that he just might feel the same way.

Despite the fact that her feet were on fire from wearing high heels all night, Hermione began to pace around the dormitory. Neither Lavender nor Parvati had arrived back yet, but she figured they'd be here shortly, and she wanted to savor every moment of silence up until that point. She just wasn't ever going to bring it up. Tomorrow she'd just wake up and talk to them like normal and not mention it, hoping Ron did the same. Maybe after a while he'd just forget it'd ever happened? She could dream, anyway. There was absolutely no way she was going to let her stupid comment affect their friendship.

On the other hand, she wasn't going to not talk to Victor either. There was still that to deal with, though Hermione stood firm on the assertion that Ron could not control who she was friends with...and she'd genuinely had a fun time at the dance with Krum. The stories he'd told her about Bulgaria were fascinating, and the way he talked proved he didn't play Quidditch for the money or girls or fame. He was really genuine, and there was no denying he was handsome. She saw absolutely no reason to cut things off with him.

Just then, Parvati and Lavender came barreling through the doorway, breathless from all the dancing. Hermione stopped her pacing immediately to greet them, then climb into bed, hoping they'd take the hint. Much to her disappointment, however, neither of the other two girls seemed the least bit tired. As they changed out of their dress robes, Parvati jumped into a long, rather irritating saga of what a let down Harry had been, even to the extent of using several choice words that Hermione would rather have not heard associated with her best friend. Just when she thought it was over, Parvati transitioned into the time she'd spent with the boy from Beauxbatons. Luckily, however, Hermione was able to "fall asleep" before Lavender could pester her about Victor, a conversation she knew her dorm mate would be bound and determined to have with her eventually. Thankfully, "eventually" wasn't that night...her day had certainly been long enough.

* * *

 

Hermione woke earlier than normal the next morning to try and catch Ginny before she went down to breakfast. As expected, Ginny was already up and ready when Hermione knocked sleepily on the door to the third years' dormitory. "Hey!" the redhead said cheerfully, greeting her friend with a smile.

"I need to talk to you," Hermione said in a whisper, not wanting to disturb Ginny's dorm mates, who were clearly still asleep. Ginny did not seem to have the same consideration, as she shut the door none to quietly behind her as she led the way out.

"Of course," she said, continuing to lead the way down to the common room. It was still early, with the few who managed to be awake already down at breakfast, and the room was empty. "So tell me," Ginny said excitedly, dramatically adapting a Parvati-esque gossipy voice, "How'd it go with Krum?"

"Good, I guess. I mean he kissed me..."

"He _what_? Hermione, that sounds a little bit more than "good" to me. You do realize who this guy _is_ , right?"

Hermione sighed. She wished everyone could just put Victor's fame aside for _five seconds_ and hear her out. "Yes. I just...well, I mean, Victor was great, and I had a lot of fun, but he just..." She trailed off, finishing the rest of the sentence in her head _...isn't Ron._ She'd been lying to herself when she'd said she was over him, because she wasn't. She really _did_ wish it had been Ron who had asked her to the Yule Ball. "I don't know what to do," she finished meekly.

"Maybe you just didn't give him enough of a chance. You said he was great and you had fun, so maybe you just need to spend more time with him before you start to really to like him, you know?"

"Yeah maybe." She chuckled, "I don't know if Ron will _let_ me spend more time with him. We might have gotten into another fight last night..."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well Ron's a git Hermione, everyone knows that. Besides, I think he fancies you." Hermione blushed scarlet.

She'd been thinking of telling Ginny for awhile, but kept telling herself that it was just a phase, that she'd get over it...though granted it didn't look like that would be happening anytime soon. And her and Ginny had had a much closer relationship ever since she'd stayed with the Weasleys this past summer. Ginny was the closest girl friend she had. It wasn't like she could talk about these kind of problems with Harry, and Lavender and Parvati would never let her live it down if she told them. She had to just get up the nerve and say it. "I think it's the other way around," she uttered out quietly.

Ginny stared at her for a few moments before Hermione's words seemed to register, then her gaze widened. "You...Ron...you and Ron? Seriously? Hermione have you _met_ my brother?"

"Look you can't tell anyone about this Gin. I mean it. If he ever finds out he'll probably never talk to me again, and I'm still expecting this, this crush or whatever it is to pass, so..." Ginny was still gaping at her. "Oh come on Ginny! It can't be that surprising. I've known Ron for years now and he's really sweet and-"

"Ew! I don't want to hear you talk about my brother!"

It was time for Hermione to roll her eyes. "I have to listen to you talk about Harry. _All the time_ ," she pointed out sourly.

"You and Harry aren't related. Speaking of which, he didn't seem to be having much fun with Parvati," she said, grinning.

"I guess not, yeah. But Ginny, I wouldn't get your hopes up-"

"And I wouldn't get _your_ hopes up about my brother. He can be pretty clueless. Besides, I still think Krum is the better choice."

"Maybe you're right." She thought about the way Krum had pulled her closer while they'd danced, and the strong, masculine air he'd had about himself when he'd leaned in to kiss her...

"Oh, I'm _definitely_ right."

"Right, well we'll see. But he's going to have to learn how to actually say my name." She stood up, "Come on, let's go get breakfast now, shall we? I don't think I could be any hungrier." Ginny nodded in agreement, and together, the pair set out for the Great Hall.

*quote taken from page 432 of the USA edition of _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

 


	12. The Second Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for GoF! This one takes place during chapter 37, "The Beginning," of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Ron Weasley was no stranger to death. The Weasleys were, needless to say, quite a large family. Both of his Mum's older brothers had died when he was very young. He couldn't remember it, but he had once heard Bill saying that she had cried for weeks, abandoning, for the first time in years, any housework that needed to be done. Since then it seemed that nearly every few months his parents would gather them around at breakfast, or send along a rather solemn letter with Errol, to inform them that yet another relative had died. Any day now Ron suspected to get word that his Aunt Muriel had finally kicked the bucket (and frankly, he hoped that particular message would come sooner rather than later). He didn't know, then, why the death of Cedric Diggory was bothering him so much.

It had been a week. A week since Cedric and Harry had emerged from the depths of the maze, one dead and one alive. A week since Voldemort's return (He winced. Even in his head the name made him uneasy). Mostly, he and Hermione had spent the time sitting quietly with Harry, first in the hospital wing, then in the common room. In those quiet moments, it was clear what the others were thinking about, because he thought it too. Everything was going to change now, and it had all started with the death of Cedric Diggory. He supposed that when his relatives died, he wasn't really affected by it. Sure, he was sad, and he always finished his eggs in silence just like the rest of the family, but the person who was gone was never anyone he'd been close to. In fact, most of the time they were great-great aunts or twice-removed cousins...people he'd only met maybe once, and knew, for the most part, only by name.

Granted, it wasn't like he'd been best mates with Cedric, either. Despite the fact that the Diggorys only lived a short while away from the Burrow, he and the older boy had hardly said more to each other than a few friendly "hello"s and "how are you?"s. Yet Ron's dad and Mr. Diggory had always gotten along, and Cedric had always seemed nice enough to him. Diggory had been a familiar face in the corridors, an opponent to keep an eye out for on the Quidditch pitch, a competitor in the TriWizard Tournament who could give Harry a run for his money...and now he was just _gone_. The thought nagged at Ron, who was unable to wrap his head around it. The fact that you could just walk into a maze, excited and determined, and be thrust back out as a lifeless body scared him.

He knew it would be pointless to voice his concerns to the other two. Bringing up his own distress to Harry, who was obviously suffering so much more than he, would not only be selfish and wrong, but also stupid...which was probably what Hermione would say to him if he told it all to _her_. Ron could remember when he was nine or so, and a wizard who lived in the village down the road had been murdered in his sleep. His father had been reading the Daily Prophet article aloud at the breakfast table, in which several people raved about what a good man the victim had been, and how he didn't deserve to die. Charlie'd commented how it was funny that people got all these friends when it was too late, and at the time Ron had thought he was right. Now he wondered if all those neighbors hadn't really been looking for attention after all. Just because they weren't friends with the man, didn't necessarily mean they didn't care that he was dead. Ron grinned to himself as he recalled that that had been his mum's response. Maybe he _was_ getting smarter.

"What are you smiling about?" Hermione asked abruptly, drawing him away from his thoughts. She had suggested they take a walk outside to get away from the stuffiness of the common room. In response, Harry had told her that he was fine where he was, and, sensing he wanted to be alone, they'd decided to venture out by themselves.

"Oh...nothing."

They fell silent once again as they walked along the edge of the lake. It seemed like years ago that they'd been summoned to McGonagall's office to get enchanted into sleep for the second task. Hermione had badgered him the entire way there, worried they were about to get in trouble for helping Harry make sense of the clue, while at the same time worried they wouldn't get back in time to _further_ assist him in learning how to breathe underwater. She really didn't make sense to him sometimes...or most of the time.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to venture into the topic he knew was lingering in the air between them. "So...erm, what do you think happens now?"

"Huh?"

"Well, You-Know-Who's back, isn't he? I mean, what do you think Dumbledore's going to do?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know, but you heard what Fudge said in the hospital wing. The Ministry's bound to keep it all hushed up as long as he's in charge."

"Probably, yeah."

"...and Dumbledore's probably really concerned about Harry. Now that You-Know-Who's back, he's the main target again." Her face grew suddenly anxious, "Oh, what if something happens to him, Ron? He's already been through enough as it, and if You-Know-Who finds a way to get to him-"

"He won't," Ron said simply. "Harry'll be fine...and if he's not, he's got us."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We're two fifteen-year-old kids. A fat lot of good that'll do."

"Ahhh, but you're forgetting, one of us is advanced for our age," Ron responded simply.

"As sweet as that is, Ron-"

"What?...oh...erm, _actually_ , I was talking about _me_..." His retort elicited a small smile from Hermione. "Seriously though, cheer up. Mum says she's trying to convince Dumbledore to let him stay with us this summer. You can come too, if you'd like. I mean to the Burrow, you know. It's pretty big..." He knew he was rambling now, but he couldn't help himself. He'd been trying to figure out the best way to bring the question up for days, ever since his Mum had suggested it-and he really wanted Hermione to say yes.

"Really? I don't know if my parents would mind... I mean, last year with the Quidditch World Cup I was still home for most of the summer."

"Just stay with us for a few weeks then."

"All right, I'll ask." She smiled at him. "Hopefully Dumbledore says yes about Harry. It'd be awful if he has to stay with his Aunt and Uncle all summer..."

Ron nodded in agreement. He, of course, wanted Harry to come stay as well, but he also knew he wouldn't mind if he got to spend some time with just Hermione first. And if Harry knew about his feelings for her, Ron figured his best mate would understand. "I'll write you when we know."

"All right," she said as they made the loop back around towards the castle. "You better write more than last summer, though. I only got about one letter before the one inviting me to the Cup, and it was all but three sentences, if that! Honestly Ron, a fruit fly could keep in touch better than you."

Ron shrugged, "I was busy!" Which, of course, wasn't entirely true. Yes, a large part of the reason he hadn't sent her many owls was pure laziness, but there was also the fact that every time he wrote down what he was thinking, the words sounded much worse on paper than they had in his head.

Hermione looked surprisingly hurt. "Too busy for me?"

"What? No, that's not what I meant. Look, I promise I'll write more this summer, okay?"

"Well as long as you _promise_."

All too quickly, their conversation elapsed into silence once more, each consumed by their own thoughts. In the stillness, Ron's mind couldn't help but drift back to Cedric Diggory...his lifeless body laying on the outskirts of what was usually the Quidditch Pitch...half hidden by the smaller figure of Harry, who was grasping the TriWizard Cup in his hand. It was like he was back in the stands, staring down at the pair, initially in confusion, then in horror. Vaguely he recalled how strange the glistening, delicate cup had looked, clutched tightly by Harry's dirt covered, blood stained fingers. In his mind, he could hear the abrupt cut-off of the victory music as the spectators slowly realized something was not right. He remembered the murmurs of the crowd and the sharp intake of breath beside him as Hermione realized just what was happening, always a step ahead of everyone else.

From that point on, he could mostly only recall the screaming. He had blurs of what had happened: Dumbledore shaking Harry, Mad-Eye carrying him away, and the tingle of Hermione's hand on his as they watched the scene in front of them unfold, as if from a horror story...but these were only blurs. Ron wasn't sure if parts of it had even really happened, or if his mind had just made them up over time. And above all those swatches of memories was the noise...the desperate cries of Mr. Diggory, the unbearable sobbing of his wife, and the gasps and screams from the students...all Cedric's friends, or classmates, or admirers...

"Are you alright, Ron?" Hermione was looking at him strangely, and her gaze made him wonder if maybe she already knew, or maybe she was even a little haunted by it all, too. In response, he could only nod. "We should get back to Harry," she said, heading in the direction of the doors, "I don't know about you, but I for one think he's had enough 'alone time.' It's not healthy for him to keep things bottled up."

What, was she a psychiatrist now as well? "I don't think he wants to talk, Hermione."

"Well, then we just have to wait until he does."

The was one thing you could be certain of with Hermione...she wasn't one to back down. "Right," he said, thinking better than to argue.

"Alright, then. That's the plan," and she marched him purposefully back to the castle.


	13. To the Burrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during, or even before, chapter one, "Dudley Demented," of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

"Here, memorize this quickly."

Hermione stared down at the slip of paper in her hands, still feeling a tad nauseated from the flight there, not to mention the fact that, apparently, she wasn't going to be staying at the Burrow after all. She had found it a bit odd that Professor Lupin had accompanied Mr. Weasley in fetching her, wondering why he could possibly be staying with the Weasley's, but had pushed it aside instantly when he'd informed her they'd be riding broomsticks to get there. Ron had never mentioned that he was no longer at home, even in the letter inviting her to stay with him for the remainder of summer. In fact, Ron's letters never seemed to mention much at all, something Hermione found extremely discouraging, given his promise last year.

"Do you have it?" Mr. Weasley asked, continuing to glance nervously around the dank street. It was early morning, and the sky was still a deep navy blue, the neighborhood still. Focusing, Hermione read the slanted, looping sentence once again: _"The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London"*_

"Yes, I've got it," she answered, even though it made absolutely no sense. She wanted to demand to know what was going on, but from her escorts' anxiousness, she sensed it wasn't the best time to be asking questions. Almost immediately, Lupin plucked the note from her fingers and set it on fire with a casual flick of his wand.

"Excellent. Now think about what you just read, clearly in your mind."

She did as told, and before she knew it, the large wall of old house fronts was expanding in front of her to accommodate a number twelve. Mr. Weasley, unfazed, held open the shabby black door. "Keep quiet in the main hallway," Lupin cautioned behind her. Filled with curiosity, Hermione stepped inside.

Whatever she had been expecting, this wasn't it. If possible, the inside of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, was even dingier than the outside, though in an oddly regal sort of way. The portrait-lined hall was dark, lit only by some interspersed old gas-lamps and a chandelier whose light was barely visible amongst the thick cobwebs that encased it. Every few steps, the hardwood floor gave a eerie creak. It was the sort of house that had clearly once been very grand, but had long since fallen into misery. Even the air seemed stale.

It was only after Mr. Weasley had closed the door tightly behind them that Hermione finally asked the question lingering on her mind. "Where are we?"

Both men, rather than answering, shot furtive looks at a set of deep velvet curtains covering a portion of the wall, and, ushering her forward through another door, led her into the kitchen. Seated around the long, wooden table that filled the room were all the Weasleys, plus Sirius Black and a woman with purple hair, eating breakfast. "Hermione!" Ginny beamed, looking up from her plate of eggs, "Good to see you."

"Good to see you, too," Hermione replied, grinning brightly. Mrs. Weasley, meanwhile, was already bustling over to her for a hug.

"Hermione, dear, we're so glad to have you here." She paused to look around the table. "You know Sirius, of course, and this is Tonks," she said, gesturing toward the bright-eyed woman with violet hair.

"Wotcher, Hermione!" The young woman grinned. "Ron's said a lot about you." She winked. Scanning the table, Hermione was able to pick Ron out from the mass of ginger heads by his newly flushed scarlet ears.

"What is this place?" she asked again.

"Headquarters. For the Order of the Phoenix," Ron's older brother, Bill said immediately.

Seeing her blank look, Ginny elaborated, "Dumbledore's secret society to fight You-Know-Who. It's all the people who fought against him last time, plus some others. People come and go all the time."

"Yeah but we don't know what they're up to," Ron intervened, "We're not allowed in the meetings." He shot a look at his mother when she turned away to fetch Hermione a plate.

"We've been through this, Ron, and you're far too young," Mrs. Weasley responded. Before Fred and George could say anything, she added, " _and_ still in school." The twins shook their heads in unison.

Hermione laughed and sat down in the empty chair between Ron and Tonks, perfectly content to simply let the others talk while she ate. Grimmauld Place was no Burrow, but, surrounded by the Weasleys, she still felt at home. Tonks was instantly likable as well. Hermione found it fascinating how easily she could change her appearance. She had read about Metamorphmaguses last summer, but it was really rare to be born with such an ability. It was something Hermione would love to be able to do...not so that she could make her hair purple, necessarily, but just so that she could make it a little less _bushier_ , without all the trouble of trying to lather it in product.

At the far end of the table, Sirius was speaking in hushed tones to Lupin and Mr. Weasley. The last time Hermione had seen him, he had been on the run, mangy and unkept. Now he looked much more groomed, his hair trimmed and his clothes, though still old, at least not torn or covered in grime. Still, his eyes betrayed his sadness, his loneliness.

Hermione nudged Ron, who was sitting beside her, in the side. "When's Harry getting here?"

He looked over at her, his expression suddenly much less cheerful, and shrugged. "Dunno. I've been asking for weeks but they keep telling me they've got to think it through, get him at the right time. Dumbledore's got people watching him while he's with his aunt and uncle. I think they're afraid someone's going to try to pull something."

Hermione frowned. Harry certainly wouldn't take lightly to being watched over like a child, which meant he probably didn't know he was being looked after. Guilt crept over her as she imagined him alone in the muggle world, desperately scanning the _Daily Prophet_ for news while they all got to be here. She herself had been getting the _Prophet_ all summer...and it worried her to think of him reading everything that Fudge and his ministry minions had to say about him, and Dumbledore too. She would just have to make it a point to write to him more often.

"Wait a minute," she said, looking around the table, eyes landing back at Ron, "Where's Percy?" She had _known_ that something was off. It was very rare that a Weasley meal went off without Percy gloating about some new task he was assigned to at the ministry, or informing everyone of the "important" events happening in the Wizarding community. Fred must have overheard her question, because he shook his head wildly in their direction, motioning with his head towards Mrs. Weasley, who was dividing out the remaining sausages between Lupin, Sirius, and Mr. Weasley.

"I'll tell you upstairs," Ron whispered back. "Are you finished?" She nodded, and together they stood up, Ron leading her back into the hallway towards the staircase, where Lupin had left her trunk. Instead of letting her grab it, Ron began hauling her belongings up the stairs by the handle, sending a fluttering through Hermione's stomach. Was it odd for him to be so thoughtlessly helpful, or had she just never noticed it before? Rather than ponder it, Hermione took the chance to take a better look around, pleasantly curious, until her eyes drifted to what was mounted on the staircase walls...

"Merlin's pants!" She screeched, her voice coming out hoarser than intended. _"Is that...?"_

"Shhhhh," Ron responded frantically, staring past her to the main hallway. But it was too late. The velvet curtains she had seen earlier flew open, and though from the staircase she couldn't make out what was behind them, she _could_ hear the blood-curdling scream filling the hall. A moment later, Bill, Fred, and George all bounded out of the door from the kitchen and began tugging the curtains shut again.

"Ay, you two, pipe down. Ron, you know we've got to be quiet in the hall," Bill said, shaking his head at them as Fred and George continued to work the curtain.

"Right, sorry," Ron said, casting a look at Hermione before continuing up the stairs. When they reached the landing, Ron set down her trunk in room just as questionable as the rest of the house. A thin layer of dust rose from the bed when she sat down. "Ginny's room," Ron said.

"What is going _on?"_ Hermione said, looking around.

"Erm, what do you mean?"

"Well for starters, what was that screaming?"

"Sirius' Mum. Well her portrait anyway. A delightful woman, as I'm sure you could tell."

"So this is Sirius' house then?" Ron nodded. "Well that at least explains the decor... Ron, those, those _heads_ on the wall, they weren't _real_ house elves were they?"

"Well they aren't exactly 'real' anymore. That's why they're mounted, see..." Hermione glared at him. "Oh come on Hermione, you aren't going to start that spew stuff up again, are you?"

"It's S.P.E.W. and I most certainly am! It's disgusting, absolutely disgusting... and you probably think they somehow _wanted_ to get their heads chopped off and used as decoration, do you?"

"Well it does appear to be one of Kreacher's life goals..."

"And who exactly is Kreacher?"

"The house elf that's here now. He's a complete nutter, mind you." Hermione's frown deepened. "Look Hermione, I don't agree with their heads being on display, but consider the source...the Blacks' weren't exactly a model family. I mean, have you seen the rest of the house? The whole lot of them were twisted, 'cept for Sirius."

Hermione sighed. "Why didn't you tell me about all this in your letters? I told my parents I was going to the Burrow!"

For a second, Ron looked guilty. "I would've, I swear, but Dumbledore told us all not to. He thinks the mail could be intercepted by the ministry. We aren't allowed to mention anything that has to do with the Order."

Hermione frowned, so much for writing more to Harry. "Oh. So how long have you been here, anyway?"

"All summer, mostly. We came here about a week after Percy left."

"After Percy _left?_   What happened?"

Ron launched into the story of Percy's row with their father, Hermione growing more astounded by the minute. She has always liked Percy, even if he was a bit pretentious. In fact, she had always thought they shared a lot of the same values... learning, setting goals, and working hard. Yes, he could be a bit too uptight and obnoxious, but from all their previous encounters, Hermione never would have guessed he'd say such things to Mr. Weasley or abandon his family over something so much less important. All her respect for him was lost.

"So try not to mention him, or Mum'll burst into tears again, and Dad will get a sort of frozen look on his face," Ron finished dully.

"That's horrible," Hermione offered up lamely as comfort. Ron's face was set, but she could still see the anger in his eyes, flickering in and out. If there was one thing Hermione knew Ron was, it was loyal to his family. He sat down on the bed beside her heavily. It was the first chance she'd had since her arrival to really look at him. It hadn't actually been that long, but Hermione felt like it'd been ages since she'd seen him. Had he really been able to grow so much in just the short span of summer that had passed? "You got a haircut," she heard herself say, before mentally kicking herself.

 _"You got a haircut"?_ _That was the best she could come up with?_ Though, really, it was a rather nice haircut...much shorter than how he'd worn it last year. He must have gained a few more inches in height as well, as his worn through blue jeans seemed shorter than ever. Even his shoulders were broader. Hermione inwardly sighed. She was even surprised herself at how much she had missed him...everything about him, even the little things that nobody else seemed to notice. The selfish part of her was glad Harry wouldn't be around, at least for a little while. A minute later, she could feel his blue eyes on her, probably thinking she was a lunatic, to be looking him over like that. She had to get better at controlling herself, or sooner or later she wouldn't even have him as a friend. But then again, he was smiling at her. Maybe he was just too clueless to have even noticed anything was different. Maybe it was just her who could feel the tension, the thickness of the air. Maybe it was only her heart beating too fast, her brain swirling in confusion. She wasn't even sure if she wanted him to notice the difference.

* _quote taken from page 58 of the USA edition of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_


	14. In With the Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter nine, "The Woes of Mrs. Weasley," of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

There it was. The familiar, large, grey "P" encompassed by the scarlet and gold of the Gryffindor lion. Only this time, the badge wasn't something he'd helped Fred and George nick off Percy's shelf. It wasn't, either, the badge he'd admired endlessly as a kid, all summer the year Bill had gotten it in his letter, until his older brother had had to leave with it for the start of the new term. Most surprisingly, it wasn't something that was newly Harry's, of which he was looking upon in envy. It was his. It was in his letter. His hand. He had to keep repeating the words over in his head, in the hope that he would eventually actually believe them.

Amongst the chaos of the reinstated Order and Harry's hearing, he'd nearly forgotten this was the year Prefects were chosen. Of course, ever since Percy had gotten his badge several years ago, Ron had followed Fred and George in taking the piss and pretending only prats became prefects. Only, unlike his twin brothers, Ron had never really believed any of it. Although Percy had been endlessly irritating about the position, Ron knew how important being a Prefect was, and he hadn't forgotten the pride his parents emanated each time one of his brothers had received their badge. He had never really thought, though, in all his hoping, that one day he'd be the one on the receiving end of the beam his mother seemed to reserve only for the owners of such a title. Judging from everyone's reactions, he wasn't the only one.

All too clearly, Hermione's response to George's suggestion that it was shocking Ron had been chosen floated into his memory... _"No...no it's not...Ron's done loads of...he's really..."*_ Ron scoffed and looked at the badge again in his palm, suddenly fighting a strong urge to chuck it at the wall. He wasn't _useless_. Why shouldn't he have gotten the badge? His marks were just as good as the other Gryffindor boys in his year, and he mostly only got into trouble for the important stuff that was worth getting into trouble for...like standing up to Malfoy or trying to save his best friend's neck. But that was just it, wasn't it? His best friend. Harry. He couldn't really blame Hermione for her surprise, because if he was being honest, he hadn't been expecting it either. He'd never liked to dwell on it for too long, but the rational side of his brain had always expected Harry to become Prefect over him. The things he had done in his four years at school were _nothing_ compared to the things Harry had. Reasonably, he tried to think of some obscure trait or achievement that could have given him the edge...but he came up with nothing.

Thinking of how inferior he was to his best friend only made him feel depressed. Moodily, he tried to think of the brighter side to things: notably the beautiful new broomstick currently residing under his bed, and all the extra time he'd get to spend with Hermione on Prefect duty.... Quite unfortunately, the excitement he'd initially felt over Hermione arriving a few days before Harry had quickly evaporated, as every time he pulled her away to try and do something fun, hismother had a nasty habit of popping up to rope them into doing something horrible, usually involving housework. As if nothing was more romantic than ridding the curtains of doxies.

Ron couldn't help wondering how the summer would have been different if it had been spent as originally planned...aimlessly passing through the days with his friends at the Burrow. He was almost positive Hermione was now wonderfully out of touch with Krum. Or at least she hadn't mentioned anything about him...and girls liked to talk about that kind of stuff, didn't they? All the times he had overheard Lavender and Parvati talking in the common rooms they had been deep in conversation over some boy. Surely...being a girl and all...Hermione would have mentioned...well she had to be out of contact with him. That was that. Maybe if they had been at the burrow Ron would have gotten the guts to try and start something between _them_. Probably not, but maybe. He would have at least been able to convince her to come swimming in the lake, effectively giving him the excuse to see Hermione in her bathing suit.

Knowing Hermione, it wouldn't be just scraps of fabric like Ginny's (his dad had looked like he'd been severely beaten by bludgers when Ginny had brought it back from some Muggle store). He amused himself for a while by picturing Hermione in some conservative swimsuit, which she probably would have picked out in some dull color like navy in the hopes of not standing out. It could come right up to her neck, probably, and she would still walk out with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Then she'd stand real close to the edge and dip just her toes in to test the water temperature. Though the whole scenario was only in his mind, with all her girl bits covered completely in fabric, Ron couldn't help but ogle a little. Even in the most conservative swimming costume, he'd be able to see her tan legs and shoulders...and because of the water, she'd probably tie back her hair, exposing her neck. In real life, he was lucky if the day was hot enough for Hermione to succumb to wearing a tank top.

Just then, the very person in question entered his room and plopped down on the floor beside him. He realized he was still holding out his prefect badge and awkwardly set in aside before looking at her. She was in long jean shorts, with the ends rolled up, and one of Ginny's T-shirts today. He could tell because Ginny was a little bit smaller, and the T-shirt on Hermione hugged against her body in the way her normal ones rarely did. Rather stupidly, he found himself wondering if she was wearing it because she liked it that way, or just because none of her own were washed. Maybe she did it specifically to drive him crazy. It didn't even matter, but he still wondered. "Had to escape the party?" He asked.

"All the excitement can get to be a little overwhelming," Hermione confirmed. "Besides, I can only take so much of Fred and George hounding me about how I'm 'perfect prefect material.' And they _don't_ mean it as a compliment."

Ron only nodded, still trying to kick swimsuit-clad Hermione from his mind in favor of the real, living Hermione beside him. Hermione, however, must have taken his lack of words as him ignoring her, because she immediately looked guilty and started apologizing. "Ron, about earlier...I didn't...I mean, I was just...well, I think you're going to make a great prefect," she stumbled out clumsily.

Ron was suddenly feeling rather lousy again. "Don't worry about it," he said, trying to pull off a voice of indifference. "I thought it was going to be Harry too." The hopeful part of him wanted Hermione to deny that that was what she had indeed been thinking, and press on to say that he was going to be a much better prefect than Harry could ever be. But instead, she didn't say anything. He wasn't terribly surprised.

Desperately, he tried to think of something to switch the topic to, but couldn't think of anything convincing enough. Finally he just said, "Congratulations, by the way."

That made Hermione grin. "Congrats to you, too. Just think, we'll get to use the Prefect's bathroom now!"

He laughed. It was amazing, really, how she could get so excited over something as silly as a fancy loo. Then again, she was probably just crafting up ways to get greater access to the house elves through being a Prefect. Perhaps she was planning on leaving knit caps on the toilet seats.

Hermione rambled on. "And just think, Ron...if we do well as prefects, they might just make us Head Boy and Girl!"

"I bet that would make Mum happy," he answered back glumly, knowing already that there was no way he was good enough for something like _that_. Head Boy was something that people like Bill got, never anyone like him. Hermione seemed to sense this in his tone.

"Don't be ridiculous, she'll be happy no matter what. Besides, I really think you could do it Ron. Especially if you _apply_ yourself instead of spending all your time playing chess or hanging around the Quidditch pitch."

"What kind of fun would that be?" Ron said incredulously. "I'm just looking forward to the part where I can dish out detentions to dungbats like Malfoy. Can you imagine his face-"

"Ron!" Hermione said sternly, clearly trying to put on the face of rule-abiding, rational Prefect. Ron knew, however, that she secretly was in full support of giving Malfoy what he deserved. Fondly he recalled the time she'd slapped him in the face third year. That was just the way Hermione was.

"No need to be a downer, I probably won't get the chance anyway...you know Malfoy's a shoe in for Slytherin Prefect. Who's his competition...Crabbe and Goyle?" The thought itself of spending extra time with someone as thick as Malfoy disgusted him, but he supposed that was the price of the badge. Hermione clearly knew it too, judging by the look on her face.

"So how's your new broom?" She asked, understandably trying to deter the conversation away from Malfoy. It was never pleasant to think of a git like him at times in which it could be avoided. For a fleeting moment, Ron thought of telling her about his plans to maybe try out for the team, but almost immediately decided against it. Hermione was great for a lot of things, but Quidditch was not one of them. She wasn't aware of the game enough to tell him honestly whether or not he stood a chance.

"It's brilliant," he said simply. "Not the best model, but a big step up from my last one." He began to explain its various features, which Hermione dutifully pretended to care about, his eyes glimmering just at the thought of his new broomstick. Now that he had a halfway decent one, he might just be able to make a good enough impression at tryouts. But he tried not to be too hopeful. Knowing him, he would find some sort of way to botch it all up before he even got in the air.

Eventually Hermione cut him off and stood up, mumbling about going back downstairs to thank everyone. "You should come too, it was your party also." She was probably right. Sighing, Ron pulled himself up and walked over to the door, being careful to let her go out before him so that he'd have a nice view of her backside for the short walk down the steps. Oh, the simpler pleasures.

When he returned to his room not long after, Harry had returned and was supposedly already asleep, or at least faking it. Ron, too, changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed, though he wasn't really tired. His couldn't help but glance over to his Prefect badge every few minutes, where it rested tenderly next to the lamp on his bedside table. Even in the dark, he could make out the bold P set against the shiny lion. Oddly, he felt an unfamiliar surge of pride pulse through him. And when he finally did fall asleep, he was smiling.

*quote taken from page 163 of the USA edition of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_


	15. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 13, "Detention With Dolores" of Order of the Phoenix!

"Ron, you do realize we have to have this paper written by tomorrow afternoon, don't you?" Hermione asked testily, glancing up from her book to look at Ron, who had been glumly staring out the window for at _least_ five minutes.

"Do you think it's going to rain the entire night?" Ron asked her, clearly not listening.

"What does it matter? It's not as if we've got time to go outside anyway." Ron didn't answer, so Hermione resumed reading her spellbook's passage on Vanishing Spells. "You really should get started, you know," she added eventually, when he still hadn't moved an inch from his seat, looking out upon the grounds with a solemn expression on his face.

She heard him grudgingly pull away from the window with a sigh. Admittedly, it was strange that he had taken such an interest in the weather. At first she had thought he'd merely been avoiding work, but now she was beginning to think otherwise. After all, he seemed far too put out when he returned to the table to merely be procrastinating. "What's the matter, anyway?" she asked. Ron just shrugged, and she decided not to press it. Lately they always seemed to be bickering, and she certainly wasn't going to be the one to cause another argument, not when they spent so much time together.

Tonight, for example, Harry had, quite unsurprisingly, already landed himself in detention. It didn't matter that they were only studying, having the time alone with Ron was something Hermione treasured, particularly lately, when Harry had the tendency to drive her to the edge. With Ron she didn't have to think so much, at least not about Cedric or Voldemort. It was somehow easier.

Combine that with their growing prefect duties together, and Hermione had found herself daydreaming of things moving forward a bit with Ron. Foolishly, she knew, she'd begun to dedicate the short span of time between going to bed and falling asleep to thinking up new scenarios of how she and Ron would become "more than friends." Sometimes dream-Ron would simply pull her aside and ask her to go to Hogsmeade with him, where together they'd share a butterbeer. In the more heated ones he'd spontaneously pull her aside late at night on one of their prefect rounds and kiss her square on the mouth, which would then escalate... The thought of the real, tangible Ron actually doing anything so bold made her laugh, but it was still nice to think about sometimes.

"How did you start yours?" Ron asked, dangling his quill over his ink bottle halfheartedly and bringing her back to reality.

"Well, I started by actually reading the chapter," she answered, starting in on her closing paragraph. The paper was only meant to be two feet of parchment, and she had already gone over, but it was killing her to have to leave out a description of the side effects.

Ron shrugged. "Well, I payed attention in class..."

"Oh, really? What's the arm motion?" Ron held his quill like a wand and made a casual flick downwards. His technique was slightly off, but the overall form was there. "Alright, so you know the basics. But what was McGonagall saying about vanishing objects of different sizes? Does it matter if the item is alive? And how far can the spell travel?" His smile fell as her widened, knowing she had stumped him. Unfortunately, he quickly recovered.

"None of that matters as long as you can cast it alright. The rest is just trial and error."

"Fair enough," Hermione said, still smiling, "but then you're on your own for the paper. And it's _going_ to matter on the O.W.L.'s so you might as well learn it now." She finished writing out her last sentence cheerfully, waiting a moment for the ink to dry before rolling it up carefully and sliding it into her bag, pulling out _Defensive Magical Theory_ to replace it.

"You're actually _reading_ that?" Ron said incredulously, staring at Umbridge's preferred textbook in horror.

" _Obviously_ ," said Hermione. Seeing the blank look Ron sent back at her, however, it clearly wasn't all that obvious. "There's this muggle saying," she explained, "'Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.' This is kind of like that."

Ron's expression hadn't changed from one of confusion. "That's barking, why on earth would you want to stay close to your enemies? That'd be like me taking Malfoy out for tea."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the image. "You're not supposed to take it literally. It means figuring out how your enemy's mind works. You know, so you can strike back at them accordingly later."

"Are my ears deceiving me? _Hermione Granger_ , striking back at a teacher?"

"Well she's not a proper teacher, is she?" Hermione responded, as if that settled the matter. Still, there was a underlying hint in her voice that suggested at her uncertainty. Ron was right, it wasn't like her to take such a stand against a teacher, and certainly not so defiantly, but this would be worth it. Umbridge wasn't teaching them a thing with her method of "theory." They needed practice, experience, and someone who actually knew what they were doing to show them what to do. It didn't help that Umbridge so exemplified all of the characteristics Hermione found detestable, specifically ignorance and snottiness.

Ron had reoccupied himself with the window, his parchment still lying hopelessly blank on the table. "It stopped raining," He stated bluntly. Then, quite to her dismay, he began packing his things away into his bag, shoving his blank parchment in at the top.

"Ron! You haven't even started your paper yet! Do you _want_ McGonagall to scalp you?"

"Oh...er...right," He pulled the paper out again and borrowed her quill to jot his name down at the top. "There, I've started."

"Where are you _going_ , anyway?"

He again shrugged, gathering together all of his things. "You'll probably find out, eventually..."

"...then you might as well just tell me now."

"No...it's...well, I'm...You see-" He paused, looking more uncomfortable by the moment. "Well, I've got to be off," He finished finally. Then he was gone, leaving Hermione feeling clueless behind him.

* * *

 

"You flew really well, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, pretending as if she'd understood even a minute of what had happened in tryouts. Quite frankly, Ron had looked about the same as everyone else from her point-of-view, but of course she'd never tell him that. After all, he hadn't even told her he was trying out, she'd had to weasel the information out of Harry (who she was convinced had only told her because Ron had given her the truth about his detentions with Umbridge)!

"Thanks," he mumbled off-handedly, though his eyes betrayed his excitement and surprise. She could tell he was proud, as it was a trait he exhibited so irregularly. It was the same face he'd worn first year, when he'd correctly cast wingardium leviosa on the troll, and just this past summer, when he'd gotten his prefect badge.

"Shall we go up to the common room to celebrate, then? I heard Fred and George say something about butterbeer..."

Ron nodded and a grin spread across his face for the remainder of the trek back to the castle. "Do you think Harry will be back from detention with toadface?" He said after a while.

"Doubtful. I think she's actually started to keep him _longer_." She winced at the thought of Harry up alone in Umbridge's office, cutting open his hand as he scribbled out lines. Clearly, Umbridge wasn't twisted only in her style of teaching.

They spent the rest of the walk bashing Umbridge, a hobby Hermione was really growing far too fond of, and before long had reached the Fat Lady, entering the common room to find it already booming. Fred and George had indeed fetched butterbeer, and whilst Hermione highly disapproved of their taking advantage of the house elves in such a manner, she decided to put it aside in light of Ron's moment of glory. "I'll go get us some bottles," Ron said, making his way through the thicket. Before he could reach the drinks, however, he was stopped by the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team (minus Harry, of course), all wanting to offer him their congratulations. Hermione sank down into the nearest armchair, almost as exhausted as she had been third year. Besides her usual heavy workload, she'd been setting aside extra time to draw up study tables for the O.W.Ls, read more of _Defensive Magical Theory_ , and knit hats and socks for the house elves.

As for the latter, she was really quite pleased with her progress. Since the start of term, demand seemed to have grown. Now, whenever she hid a wooly hat in the common room it would be gone by morning. If only she could get more people involved in S.P.E.W... Unfortunately, Harry and Ron were useless in that department, despite her many attempts to get them involved. She glanced over at Ron, who was giving a play by play of his tryout to a far too interested Katie Bell, and wondered if he noticed how passionate she was for S.P.E.W., the same way he was passionate about quidditch. Probably not. It was really too much to hope for.

She _did_ notice it in him though, the passion. It was present simply through the way his demeanor had changed once he'd made it on the team. She let her mind wander as she watched him, landing, oddly enough, on the ridiculous films her mother always roped her into watching during the summers. They were far too often American high school dramas, ending in a kiss in the rain on the soggy school football field, between the lead quarterback and the unpopular but likable protagonist. She imagined the same scenario, but out on the quidditch pitch, Ron in his Gryffindor uniform with his broomstick pushing against her back as he held her close, and could begin to understand what her mother saw in such films, no matter how ridiculous they were. Before long, she found herself drifting off, clinging to Ron in the rain...


	16. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during chapter twenty three, "Christmas on the Closed Ward" of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

  
"Ron," Ginny said cheerfully, bounding into the sitting room where the rest of the Weasley's were decorating a rather large Christmas tree, "Hermione's here."

Ron almost dropped the ornament he was holding in surprise, ignoring the jeers that followed from Fred and George. "Hermione? She's supposed to be skiing with her parents."

Ginny shrugged. "Well you better go help her with her bags or she might set Ms. Black off again…and it was hard enough shutting her up the first time, trust me."

Ron nodded, pushing his way past the twins, who were lazily enchanting several fairy ornaments to throw snowballs at one another. Hermione was in the long hallway that led into the kitchen and stairwell, her face flushed from the cold and her bushy hair covered in a thin dusting of snow. Her school trunk lay at the bottom of the stairs. Beaming at him, she hurriedly tugged off her mittens before pulling him into a hug, which he returned, rather awkwardly. "Your mum's gone to make sandwiches. Where's Harry?"

"Dunno," Ron said hesitantly, "Probably hiding out somewhere, like he has been ever since we saw Dad."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'd expect nothing less from him. I'll go find him and we'll meet in your room?"

"Why aren't you with your parents?"

Hermione shrugged. Ron burst into laughter. "You can't really ski, can you?" If her skills at quidditch were any indication, it was no wonder why she'd passed on the trip. Dean had explained skiing to him after Hermione had mentioned she was going, and it sounded extremely difficult, to him. He grinned as he imagined her flailing down a snowy mountainside.

"No!" Hermione said, clearly affronted. "It's actually really fun, and I'm not bad! Besides, after I heard about your dad…. Well, it's really a good thing I'm here, now that I know you've just been letting Harry sit around and brood."

Ron shuffled his feet, feeling slightly guilty. It was true that he hadn't exactly put much effort into trying to pull Harry away from his room…but in his defense, he'd had enough experience with Harry's mood shifts to know when it was best to leave him alone. "Well he's not exactly the easiest person to talk to! You know how he gets, and…well, he overheard Mad-Eye saying You-Know-Who might be possessing him because of that dream about my dad, and he hasn't exactly been the most pleasant person to be around since…."

"Well what do you expect, Ron? It's _Harry_. I'd better go and talk to him." She started up the stairs, moving her hand to her trunk handle as if to haul it up behind her, but Ron reached out to stop her.

"I've got your stuff," He said, his heart rising in his chest at the wide beam he received for his offer. He always forgot how much he missed Hermione until she was there again.

* * *

 

"Happy Christmas, Ron! Did you like your present?" Hermione greeted eagerly, meeting him on his way down the stairs. Ron had to hold back a laugh at how giddy her face looked. Over a homework planner.

"Oh yeah, it's brilliant!" He said, trying his best to feign a look of joy that would equal her enthusiasm. He could never tell her that the little book was already tucked away in the bottom of his trunk, where it would most likely remain until his mother forced him to clean it out. And, much to his luck, Christmas must have had some sort of effect over her, because she seemed to believe him, beaming widely.

"And thanks for the book, Harry!" she exclaimed, turning to the boy in question, "I've been wanting the _New Theory of Numerology_ for ages! And that perfume is really…unusual, Ron."

Ron grinned. He'd spent ages trying to come up with a present that wasn't a book, which he'd concluded was a bit of a cop out. Hermione would always love a good book, but if he was going to make an impression, yet _another_ copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ , probably wasn't going to cut it. Finally he'd just gone to Ginny and asked her what girls liked. Oddly helpful for once, she'd helped him pick out the perfume. At first he'd thought it smelt a little funny, but Ginny had assured him Hermione would love it, and what did he know? She seemed to like it well enough, anyway.

He trailed behind her as she rambled on about Kreacher and dropped off his present in his, er—"bedroom, " listening only vaguely as she argued, yet again, with Sirius. As much as he tried to understand her fervor over the elf, he just couldn't get it. He understood wanting to help out elves like Dobby, but Kreacher was anything but a gleaming representation of his race. He just couldn't see how she could sympathize with someone who worshiped Ms. Black and aspired to have his head cut off and mounted on the wall. And even if elves were oppressed, that didn't mean some of them couldn't be evil. To him, they were just like humans in that sense…some were nice, and some were barmy. Kreacher definitely fit into the second category, as far as he was concerned. Thankfully, though, his mum announced lunch before things could get too heated, and Hermione abandoned her rant on spew to help her carry dishes to the table.

"Well did she like it?" A voice said loudly beside him. He turned to see Ginny, already dressed in her latest Weasley sweater—a pleasant blue color with a scarlet "G." Ron balked. Ginny's color was usually blue, but his mum had never honed in on a particularly shade, and so hers varied each year, from periwinkle to navy. It wasn't fair, truly, that no matter what, he still got maroon. This year he had decided to silently protest by leaving it up in his bedroom and wearing an old, green sweater instead, but he doubted she would catch on. Besides, even if she did, it was unlikely that the color would change.

"What?" He said, distracted by the thought of the ill-favored garment.

"The _perfume!_ Hermione! Did she like it?" Ginny elaborated. When he nodded, she burst out laughing.

"What's funny about that?" He said, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, nothing! Nothing at all!" She said, a little too cheerfully. "I'm just really happy for you." But he didn't have time to dwell on it…Fred and George had already swallowed down half the sandwiches, and if he didn't move quickly, none of the best ones would be left.

"Whatever," he said, rolling his eyes at her before taking the empty seat next to Harry and digging in.

* * *

 

"Hermione?" Ron said in alarm, squinting his eyes to see better in the dim lighting. He had only come down for a glass of water. It was late, and the rest of his family had long since fallen asleep. After returning from Mungos and feasting on their mother's delicious Christmas supper, they'd all gone to bed rather early, stomachs full. But sure enough, there was Hermione, wearing a pair of purple flannel pajamas and sitting at the end of the long, wooden kitchen table, both hands clutched tightly around a steaming mug of tea. "Why are you still up?"

"I might ask you the same question," she said wearily, jumping at his voice. "I was just…thinking."

"About Neville," Ron finished for her. Hermione eyed him with surprise.

"Yes, actually." Then, "How did you know that?"

Ron shrugged, walking over to the sink to fill his glass. "Lucky guess. And…I was sort of thinking about him too."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." There was a long pause in which nothing could be heard but the sound of the faucet and the water hitting the bottom of Ron's glass. When he sat down next to her, they simply looked at one another. After a while, Hermione began speaking in a rush. He had known she would, of course. Hermione wasn't one to stay silent for too long.

"It's just really unfair, you know? Harry's parents are dead and Neville's can't even remember him, and—and now You-Know-Who's back and these things are going to start happening all over again. I mean, look at your dad, he already almost d—" She stopped when she saw the look on his face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. He's fine now, that's all that matters."

"I just can't believe Neville never told us!" Ron said, trying to turn the conversation away from his dad. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about how much danger his family was already in.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, "Well I doubt it's something he likes to advertise, Ron."

He tried to imagine his own parents being stuck in a ward at the hospital, without a clue as to who any of them were. What it would be like to have to go and live with some other relative (Aunt Muriel, in particular, came to mind). He immediately felt guilty. "I only meant…we're his _friends_. He can, you know, tell us stuff." Hermione nodded, but didn't say anything.

They had once again dissolved into silence, but he could tell she was still lingering on Neville. Her eyes were getting misty. He wondered if she was as scared for her family as he was for his, or even if she had really thought about it much until they'd ran into Neville. Knowing Hermione, she was probably scared for everyone all at once.

Not knowing quite what to say, and sensing that this wasn't the sort of time to use humor to lighten the mood, he settled for "I'm glad you didn't go skiing."

She looked up at him, the very edges of her mouth curving into sort of a half-smile, barely prominent enough to be noticed. "Me too. Merry Christmas, Ron."

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."


	17. The Hospital Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 38 of OoTP, "The Second War Begins." Enjoy!

She knew she was awake because the pain had returned. Faintly, she could remember a sort of far-off dream that had just been hitting its peek the moment she'd been so rudely awakened by the effects of Dolohov's spell. Oh, glorious sleep! She could still feel the traces of it as it slowly left her, replaced by the ever more familiar throb of her ribs. Vaguely, she wondered if by some miracle she might fall back asleep if only she kept her eyes shut. No such luck. The pain was once again fully present, and any chance of getting in a few more hours of rest vanished.

It had been two days since the events of the Department of Mysteries. It was odd, Hermione thought, how her perception of "two days" could change so quickly. Before, two days had meant a last-minute study session or a final dip in the pond at The Burrow before the start of term. Now, two days seemed like an eternity. It felt like she had crammed a year's worth of thinking into these two days, with only brief patches of sleep to pull her mind away from it all. None of it felt real. The Death Eaters, The Order, Sirius…it all seemed so _distant_ , as if it had happened to somebody else, in a different world, or in a sketchy, faraway dream. Surely, this wasn't her life. Her life meant letters from Sirius in the post and a smiling Harry and indifference at the mention of a "prophecy." If she _just_ kept her eyes shut, maybe that could all still be true. But all too quickly, voices floated her way from the corridor, inviting her back to reality.

"She's doing much better, now. It was really very critical for a while when they first brought her in, but the potions I have her on have revived her considerably. It's still unlikely she'll be out before the end of term, but all things considering…." _End of term?_ That was still _weeks_ away.

"And the boy?" Hermione recognized the voice that interrupted Madam Pomfrey's as Professor McGonagall's. At the mention of Ron, she perked up.

"As good as expected. The scarring's diminishing, but damage from brains….As I'm sure you know, Minerva, thoughts are a tricky business. I've given him enough sleeping drought that he should have slept through most of the side effects, but again, I'd say he won't be out any sooner than Granger."

Their voices began to fade as Hermione strained to hear more. She didn't know much about Ron's condition because he was _always_ asleep in the rare moments that she was awake. It cheered her up considerably, however, knowing that at least if she was stuck here until the end of term, Ron would be too. The hospital wing was a decidedly awful place to be. Not only was there the constant doting of Madam Pomfrey (well-intended, of course, but none less annoying because of it), and the influx of increasingly disgusting potions, but there was also the fact that Professor Umbridge had the bed right across from her. Her moaning had awakened Hermione on more than one occasion. Every now and then, she felt slightly guilty for abandoning her to the centaurs, but then she remembered the deep scars on the back of Harry's hand, and the guilt instantly faded. Umbridge had deserved what she'd got.

Figuring she couldn't keep up the fantasy for much longer, Hermione cracked open her eyes. The hospital wing was still dim. The clock on the nightstand revealed that it was only 6 in the morning. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't bring in breakfast and her first batch of potions until 8. Internally, Hermione groaned. Two more hours before she would even _begin_ to feel functional. It was still a mystery what spell Dolohov had hit her with, but she thanked her lucky stars that he'd had to do it nonverbally. The spell had left her sore and without any energy. Sometimes a sudden burst of pain would wrack through her chest or ribcage and she'd clutch at her side helplessly until it passed. These reoccurring flashes hadn't happened much, but they almost always left her feeling more drained than she had been before. From the talk of Madam Pomfrey, however, she'd gathered that if the spell had been cast with full force, she may not have made it here at all. The thought made her shudder. Only a rustling from her side pulled her out of it.

In the bed next to hers, Ron was pushing himself into a sitting position with one arm and rubbing his eyes with the other, squinting through the darkness. "Hermione?" He said, a bit groggily, staring over at her.

Almost immediately, she too was sitting up "Ron!" She squeaked. It was the first chance she'd had to talk to him since they'd gotten there. "You're finally awake!"

"Me? You're the one who's always sleeping!"

Hermione frowned. The potions she needed to take _did_ make her feel drowsy, but she'd hoped she hadn't been sleeping as much as she suspected. Apparently not. "Oh," was all she could say, frustrated with herself.

"Yeah. You missed it, Harry came to visit yesterday."

"He did?" She said, slightly surprised. She knew she shouldn't be. Of course Harry would want to see them. Once again, she had to admire Harry for his strength. If it were her in his position, she couldn't help but think she wouldn't have the courage to leave her bed. "Er…How was he? Since, well, you know…." For some reason, she realized she couldn't say it aloud. It seemed to permanent to come right out with it that Sirius was gone. Part of her still kept thinking he'd come bounding in at any second.

Ron shrugged. "Good as you'd expect, I s'pose…It just doesn't seem like he's actually gone, does it?" There was a pause, and Ron's eyes crinkled as he got lost in thought.

"Ginny came too, to visit." He said suddenly, frowning. "I was pretty stupid, letting her come with us. Mum's gonna kill me."

Hermione laughed. "It would be more stupid to think you could've actually stopped her." She thought she saw him smile a bit, but it faded away almost as soon as it had come.

"I just…What happened to Sirius, well it could've been her, you know? Hell, Hermione, it could have been you." His face turned deadly serious as he looked over her. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable, the way his eyes were boring into her. Once again she found herself wondering _just_ how bad off she'd been when she'd first arrived in the hospital wing.

Ron seemed to have caught himself staring and suddenly looked away, picking at a lose thread in his bedspread instead. "How are you feeling?" He finally asked, still not looking at her.

"Alright." The word probably came off abrupt and cold, but she _really_ wasn't in the mood to talk about this. She wasn't used to Ron being so serious when all she really wanted was for him to crack a joke. Maybe if he did, they could forget about the Ministry for a little while.

"No," He turned to her again, "I mean _really_ , Hermione. Neville said…" he scrunched his eyes up again as if struggling to get the words out right, "Well he said you weren't good and…."

She felt herself soften, suddenly feeling selfish. Ron was so concerned, and she hadn't even bothered to ask him how'd he'd been. The first time she'd woken up, and seen him lying on the bed next to her, she'd nearly had a panic attack. He'd been thrashing around in his sleep, and both of his arms had been covered in some sort of thick paste. She'd immediately called in Madam Pomfrey and demanded to know what was wrong with him. It was then that she'd been told about the brains. Apparently, the nightmares he'd looked to be having had had something to do with brains as well. Madam Pomfrey said the thoughts had worked their way into his own mind and that it would probably take them a while to flush out. Suddenly, Hermione wondered if he still had them or if all of the other brains had finally left his system. She turned to meet his gaze. "Really Ron, I'm fine. Just a little sore, I mean, but that's really to be expected, so…" She drifted off, feeling foolish. "How are your arms?"

"Better, I think." Ron replied, glancing down at himself. The tentacles had left thick scars coiling down his arms. In the dim light, she couldn't tell if they seemed to be any less deeper or less swollen than they had a few days before, so she just nodded encouragingly. Then there was silence, but it was the comfortable silence that came with it being Ron whom she shared it with. Then sort of silence that she enjoyed.

"This is the craziest thing we've ever done," She said after a while. A group of kids trying to take on Voldemort. The Order of Phoenix must have been absolutely furious when they found out. "What were we _thinking_?"

"Yeah, this goes beyond school rules, we broke actual _laws_ this time," Ron said playfully. There it was, classic Ron, and yet she couldn't bring herself to smile now. All her doubts were struggling to escape, pulling her further under.

"We were so _stupid_ thinking we could save him all by ourselves. And then we couldn't even _do_ that, and the prophecy broke and it just went all _wrong_. Maybe if we had just planned better, or more or—"

" _Planned?_ Hermione there was no time to plan any more than we did! Look, you, being brilliant and all, saw that it might all be a ruse from the beginning, didn't you? We even snuck into Umbridge's office to check! We did the best we could, I reckon. Besides, it's no more stupid than getting past Fluffy and going after the stone was, or chasing after the heir of Slytherin, or you and Harry jumping down the Whomping Willow after me, or a _million_ other things we've done."

"Yes, but—"

"Would you rather Harry have gone off on his own? Or what if Sirius _had_ been there and we hadn't done anything! We did the right thing, Hermione."

He was right, of course. She was with Harry 100%, and if that meant flying threstrals down to the Department of Mysteries with zero preparation, well then so be it. She'd do it again in an instant, if she had to. "I know," she answered eventually. She couldn't help but notice his eyes were on her again. Knowing Ron, he'd probably never realized it about it himself, but he had a knack for cheering people up. Somehow, he always seemed to know what to say, especially when she herself was unclear about what exactly it was that she needed to hear.

"Good, well that settles it then. Say Hermione, my mum's going to talk to Dumbledore and see if Harry can come home with us straight away this year. Maybe you can talk to your parents and come soon too? I mean, you don't have, but if you wanted to, I mean. Just a thought."

"You should know by now, of course I want to," Hermione said, feeling pleased with herself when she noticed the tips of his ears growing red even through the darkness. Maybe they _were_ going somewhere. "I'll have to stay with my parents, for a while, though," She added, not meaning to sound so disappointed. She loved her parents both very much, truly, but it got harder and harder to talk to them with every trip home. It was obvious they'd never let her come back if they knew what was really happening in the Wizarding World, especially after this year. So she kept her conversations with them brief, not quite trusting herself to not slip up and reveal something she shouldn't have. At least when she was being vague, she didn't have to straight-out lie. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if they were mad at her for being so distant. It seemed increasingly unlikely, anyway, that she'd ever regain the close relationship she'd once shared with them.

"You worry too much, Hermione. I'm sure they'll understand." Ron piped up, catching on to her hesitations. Ron wasn't always the brightest when it came to school work, but he was able to read people. Or at least her. Suddenly, he reached out to the table between them, laden high with get-well cards and sweets, and began rustling around.

"Ron, it's 6 in the morning!"

He grinned, holding out a piece of chocolate for her to take. "'Course it is. So how about a chocolate frog?" The chocolate never tasted better.


	18. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 5, "An Excess of Phlegm," and chapter 14, "Felix Felicis," of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Hermione frowned in concentration as she looked at her reflection, trying to determine just how bad her black eye was. She had gotten angry at the twins countless times in the past, but this just might top the list. A bruise that won't heal, how hilarious! Despite Mrs. Weasley's best efforts, she had finally concluded that they'd just have to wait and ask Fred and George directly how to remove it when they made the trip down to Diagon Alley before the start of term. Unfortunately for her, they still had weeks before their Hogwarts letters and supply lists came.

She had never put too much stock in appearances—there were so many bigger things to worry about, especially now—but a swollen purple eye did nothing to boost her confidence. She had momentarily considered asking Ginny to help her cover it with makeup, but had decided it was a hopeless cause. Besides, she didn't want to look like it bothered her too much. That last part was difficult, of course, given Fleur flouncing about as if she owned the place. It wasn't _just_ that the veela, or rather, part-veela, was gorgeous…she was also so full of herself! Talking to Mrs Weasley as if she owned the place and rambling on about how her own customs were so much better than everyone else's…and Ron couldn't get enough of her.

Hermione sighed and plopped down onto her bed. Just when she thought she might be what he was looking for, something, or someone, came along to prove her inadequacy. This time it was an excess of Phlegm. It had been years now, and she and Ron were still going nowhere. Maybe all of it—everything she'd taken as hints that he secretly wanted something more—truly were just acts of friendship. She thought about the advice she'd once given Ginny… _"Don't let Harry consume your life. If it's meant to be, it'll happen. You have to stop focusing on it so much and live your life."_ Ginny had taken her advice, and was currently working wonders on Dean Thomas. Meanwhile _she_ couldn't help but feel slightly guilty if she even wrote to Victor, let alone tried to date someone new. It was silly of course. If her and Ron were meant to be, surely something would have happened by now…. She had felt so certain at the end of last year that this was it. Now she wasn't sure if it would ever happen.

Frustrated she pulled out her O.W.L report and skimmed through it again. Just another thing in her life that hadn't gone as planned. She knew she was being ridiculous in being at all disappointed, however slight. Her marks were excellent. She knew that of course. She knew that ten O's was fantastic. But that one "E" still jumped out at her. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she couldn't help but feel as if she'd let herself down. She cursed at her own high expectations. If hers had been Harry's or Ron's scores, or anyone else's, she'd have been sincerely ecstatic for them, uttering endless congratulations. Somehow it was different when they were her own marks. When she _knew_ she was capable of more.

In primary school, grades had been her whole world. They had been all that she had. She hadn't understood herself in the slightest, not amongst the rogue moments of magic she couldn't explain or classify, or the lonely school lunches at tables where everyone ignored her, or the silence that drifted over the dinner table when her parents asked how her day had been, because she didn't want to admit to them that she had yet to make a friend. She understood maths. She found joy in reading. Quickly, books and homework became her solace. Nothing made her feel more pride than bringing home perfect marks for her mother to pin on the fridge while her father cooked her favorite meal in celebration.

When she had gone off to Hogwarts, things hadn't changed. Even after finding the one thing she had always craved—true friendship—the thrill of a good mark couldn't be diminished. In fact, her urge to learn had only grown. Marks were concrete proof that she belonged in the magical world, despite being muggle born, despite not have a clue that magic even _existed_ before she turned eleven. No one could deny that she was just as capable as someone who had lived amongst witches and wizards their entire lives. In the summers, marks were one of the few things about her new world her parents could truly understand. At the end of each term, her mother still tacked her report to the fridge. Even now, part of her still longed for the validation grades provided. Truthfully, an "E" in Defense Against the Dark Arts scared her. There was still so much to know, so much to learn…. What if a spell she hadn't known on her exam was the spell that could save them all from Voldemort? She studied so hard, and it still wasn't enough. How could she stand by Harry's side knowing she had yet to reach her best? Sighing, she tossed the paper in her trunk and sunk down to the floor.

 _Nothing_ was happening the way she wanted it to. Though she felt foolish, she didn't try to stop the silent tears plateauing in the corners of her eyes, about to spill.

* * *

 

"Ginny! Ginny, wait!" Hermione called, running to catch up with her friend. Ginny was, quite surprisingly, surrounded by neither her normal gaggle of friends nor Dean—the perfect opportunity for Hermione to share the good news.

"What's got you looking like it's already one sleep till Christmas?"

Hermione's grin widened as she caught up to her friend. "Slughorn's holding another party."

Ginny's eyes narrowed, "And you're excited about that why?"

" _Because_ …we're allowed to bring a guest."

"Oh… _oh_. You're really going to do it? You're going to ask him?"

"Of course I'm going to ask him." She had made her mind up as soon as Slughorn had mentioned to her that she could bring someone. She had been waiting for an opportunity since the start of term, when she'd decided once and for all to quit feeling sorry for herself and take action. What better chance was there than this?

Her mind was already reeling with ideas on how she could do it. She would have to keep it casual. Laying her feelings out on the table over a Christmas party was out of the question. Besides, somehow she figured declaring her undying love for him was the quickest way to scare him off. She refused to lose Ron as a friend. No, he didn't need to know the full extent of how much this mattered to her. All he needed to do was say yes. This was her chance to gauge his feelings. Saying yes had to mean he felt _something_ , right? Then, at the party, when they were having a good time…maybe something would finally happen between them. They could start going on proper dates. The Slug Club was just her way in…

"Hermione?" Ginny said, staring at her suspiciously, "Were you even listening?" At the blank look she got in return, she rolled her eyes. "I've got to get to class. We can talk later, alright?"

Hermione nodded absentmindedly, watching Ginny retreat towards the Potions room before herself heading off to Herbology.

It was Harry who ruined it, Hermione thought bitterly. He just _had_ to go and bring up Slughorn's last little get-together, which led her to mention the Christmas party, which led to Ron's temper inevitably rising at the thought of yet another Slug Club gathering. And then they were fighting, and Ron was sneering at her and mentioning McLaggen…. Hermione could feel her own temper rising. She understood that Ron felt left out, but to suggest that'd she'd "hook up" with the likes of such a pig! Suddenly, as if against her will, she was bursting out that they could bring guests and that she had wanted to ask him. So much for planning everything out…. She mentally cursed herself. Instead of the sweet and heartfelt invitation she had imagined, she'd practically screamed it at him alongside a snarky comment as they attempted to squash Snargaluff pods. How romantic.

"You were going to ask me?"*

Hermione looked up, sure her face was now bright red, though with anger or embarrassment she couldn't be sure. "Yes. But obviously if you'd rather _I hooked up with McLaggen…."*_ Oh god, she was making things worse. Once again, her anger had gotten the best of her. She braced herself for his angry retort, for him to yell back at her that she might as well, because he'd never set foot in something as stupid as a Slug Club party, but it didn't come. Instead, his response was so soft that she barely heard it.

"No, I wouldn't."*

That was, that was a yes. Her eyes widened as they met his, only to be torn away a moment later as Harry shattered their bowl. She snapped back to reality, as if out of a daze. Yes. It had all gone so horribly wrong and he'd still said yes. Flustered, she looked around rapidly for her Herbology book, talking far too quickly about how best to juice the pods. _They were going to Slughorn's Christmas party together_. As that fact slowly dawned on her, she couldn't help but grin.

* * *

 

Hermione slid into the common room, swiping at her eyes furiously. She couldn't _believe_ him. She hadn't _done_ anything! A minute before he had been convinced he'd been slipped felix felicis! How was it her fault that she'd fallen for it too? Anyone would have made the same mistake. Angrily she made a beeline for the girls' dormitory, trying to ignore the celebrations going on loudly all around her. But when she pushed past a group of giggling girls, she stopped short in her tracks, seeing for herself what it was everyone was staring at.

Everything afterwards dissolved into a horrible, seemingly endless blur. She felt as if she was falling uncontrollably, her breath whisked away as everything became more and more distant, until all she could see was blackness. It took all she had left to turn herself around and run from the scene, back out towards the portrait hole.

There in the center of the common room, his flaming red hair sticking up wildly and his quidditch jumper askew, was Ron, arms locked in a tight embrace with none other than an enthusiastic, red-faced Lavender Brown.

*Quotes taken from page 282 of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_


	19. Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place during chapter 15, "The Unbreakable Vow," of Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince

Lavender painted her fingernails.

It was an odd thing to take note of, but once he had—that first night as she'd trailed her fingers up his arm, giggling—it became the center of his attention. To him, it seemed like every time she reappeared—which, granted, was less often than one might think, considering she rarely left his side—they were a different color. First they had been pale pink, then periwinkle, lilac, silver, and more recently, a rather shocking, and very glittery, bright red. In a sickening way, the whole thing reminded Ron of Gilderoy Lockhart and his never-ending wardrobe of brightly colored robes, a comparison that made him shiver.

He'd spent ages trying to pinpoint why exactly her nail polish bothered him to the extent that it did, but so far, he'd had little success. Lavender was, to put it simply, _gorgeous_. She was the type of girl his dorm mates fawned over. A girl who was looked upon with envy by other girls, who could pick any guy to date and they'd fall over themselves to accept. Her hair was always set in a perfect curl, her makeup applied tediously each morning, and whenever she could manage it, her school robes replaced with tight t-shirts that seamlessly highlighted her curves. He should be thrilled that of all people she could've taken interest in, in a house that included the likes of Harry and Seamus and Dean, she'd chosen _him_. Except he wasn't.

He had been, at first. After seeing Ginny kissing Dean, and hearing her brusquely remind him of his own lack of allure, Lavender's enthusiasm after the match had come as such a shock that he'd responded with nothing but vehemence. Hermione's reaction (well, before she'd set canaries on him) had been the icing on the cake. Her anger so closely resembled his own at thoughts of Krum that Ron felt she was simply getting a taste of her own medicine. Besides, she clearly thought him useless—convinced he couldn't make a save without the help of felix felicis, or find someone to snog, as she apparently had. Well now he had, too. At first, that alone had been enough to power his relationship with Lavender. She was a girl who didn't doubt him, a girl who actually, well and truly, _liked_ him. He could hardly deny that he'd welcomed the change in pace, craving the attention she gave him.

Besides, the snogging was nice. It wasn't as if he had any experience to go off (as so duly noted by Ginny only days before), but Lavender hardly seemed to mind. In fact, much to his dismay, Lavender hardly seemed to mind _anything_ that he did. It was incredibly dull, how she always agreed with him, as if she didn't have any of her own opinions. Instead, she followed him around mindlessly, groping at him in every spare moment and nodding along to every word he spoke, never giving in even when he _purposely_ tried to get her heated, just to start an argument. He had hoped doing so would offer her the opportunity to for once actually speak her mind, but no such luck. In fact, he and Lavender rarely talked at all. She was much more of a _physical_ being. It was like dating the giant squid, the way she clung to him! He wondered vaguely if his ears would be permanently scarlet from the number of awkward encounters he'd had to endure at being discovered in this or that empty classroom. After that last time, he'd never be able to look Professor Flitwick in the eyes again…. On the other hand, _she_ never seemed to mind at all, snapping back each time they were discovered in a compromising position with a mere giggle and flouncing out to find another dark corner to disappear into, dragging him along in her wake. It was incredibly exhausting.

In fact, after the initial joy of kissing someone and being wanted had withered away, he had begun to realize that the most interesting thing about her was what color she'd next paint her fingernails.

The trouble was, he couldn't think of a sufficient way to break it off with her, supposing the giant squad analogy was a bad approach. How was he supposed to do it without hurting her feelings? He wondered absently if it was too much to hope that she'd meet someone else over the holidays, realize Ron's trembling inadequacies, and decide to ditch him as soon as they returned. _Her_ breaking it off with _him_ seemed much more bearable than having to do it himself. He remembered his mother once scolding Bill (or was it Charlie?) while he was still at Hogwarts, for acting awful on purpose to get some obnoxious girl to leave him alone. Maybe he could try that out, too. Or if that failed, perhaps the time away from each other would make him realize all that he had been missing in his impression of Lavender, and he'd come back with a new determination to snog her. Except if he was being truthful with himself, he knew that this was not only highly unlikely, but verging on impossible. Lavender was a nice enough girl, but she wasn't the girl for him.

The girl whom he increasingly believed to be the girl for him was currently at Slughorn's Christmas party, quite possibly doing her own share of snogging with none other than Cormac McLaggen. _McLaggen_. Out of all the blokes Hermione could have chosen to go with, she just _had_ to choose him. Ron wondered if this was some sort of twisted payback for getting a girlfriend. Yes, that meant he'd bailed on her for the party, but it wasn't like her invite had meant all that much in the first place. Surely she she shouldn't have gotten so upset as to take _him_ in revenge. They'd been planning to go as friends, for Merlin's sake! Couldn't she have found another friend to go with? Neville, perhaps. Yes, Neville was safe. Ron slumped in his chair, defeated. While he hadn't been above dragging Lavender closer to wherever Hermione was studying before snogging…he never suspected Hermione to stoop to the same level. Besides, she didn't have much of a reason to try and rile him up. She couldn't _possibly_ be that bitter about a party. Which led him to only one other conclusion: she'd actually wanted to go with Cormac. He thought he might vomit at the thought.

It should have been him at that party tonight. Could've been too, if he hadn't been too busy being a prat. He'd been given a real chance to start something…had planned it out, too. They'd be talking and having a good time, and he'd wait until they'd both had a few firewhiskeys…. In the safety of his mind, he'd finally been able to do what he'd been so scared to do for years, and lay all his feelings out on the table. But then he'd seen Ginny with Dean and she'd screamed at him about Krum and he'd gotten so _angry_. His plan never reached the light of day. Before long he was kissing Lavender, and Hermione was going after gits like McLaggen, and they hadn't spoken in _ages_.

His head was spinning. He tapped his fingers impatiently against his armchair in front of the fire, waiting for his mind to slow down. He'd really mucked things up this time. After all, the only thing worse than not having Hermione as a girlfriend was not having her as a friend at all.

He missed her.

At first, he had tried to tell himself otherwise, pretending it was a relief not to have her nagging him about schoolwork and rolling his eyes every time her hand shot up in class. But his efforts were useless. No matter what he did, he couldn't help yearning for Hermione Granger, his best friend. Without the presence of all the things that used to annoy him—constant reminders that exams were only months away, study timetables, S.P.E.W.—he found himself missing them nearly as much as he missed his _favorite_ qualities about her. There was no picking and choosing when it came to Hermione. She wouldn't be _her_ without the nagging and the studying and the ceaseless trips to the library. Just as much as she wouldn't be her without her smile, her pearly white teeth, and her lips, soft as they brushed against his cheek before his first Quidditch match, or pursed tightly in frustration as she tried to translate a particularly difficult set of runes. Her hair, wild when she appeared for breakfast each morning, even bushier in the summers when the humidity prevented her from taming it. Her voice, amused as he begged her to let him copy her homework, muffled under her Gryffindor scarf as they trudged towards Hogsmeade in the snow, laced with worry as she expressed to him her fear and doubts. Even her red face when she flared up with anger at him during a particularly heated row, meeting each of his retorts with a decidedly more clever one of her own. It was _all_ of her that he loved.

But he hadn't seen any of it in ages. Whenever they ran into each other in the hallways or found themselves in the same room, she never stuck around long enough for him to get a word in edgewise. Not that he could have even if she did, given that he was more often than not with Lavender. And what would he say, anyway? He downright refused to be the first to apologize. Besides the times he'd blatantly rubbed Lavender in her face out of spite, the only thing he was "guilty" of was finding himself a girlfriend. If anyone deserved an apology, it was probably Lavender. Sure, he'd been thrilled when she'd first snogged him, and enjoyed the physical aspect of his relationship, but his feelings for her hadn't been truly genuine since their first week together (and even then, he sensed his initial passion was due to the thrill of the moment, rather than any real emotional attachment). A kiss on the cheek from Hermione had meant more to him then everything he'd done with Lavender combined. And while it was nice to gain some experience with her, nice to have someone to escape to for a snog that could make him forget about any of his real problems, he got the distinct impression she didn't take their relationship so lightly. It may have been casual from the beginning for him, but it certainly wasn't for her. And now that he was becoming increasingly aware that he was stringing her along, he had no idea how to dig himself out of the mess he had made. How could he have fucked things up this badly? Desperately, he continued to hope things would improve after Christmas.

Over the summer, when Hermione had stayed with his family, they'd agreed to spend the holidays together, at the Burrow. Now he'd heard from Harry that she was going skiing with her parents. It was hard to believe that just last year she'd skipped that trip to spend Christmas at Grimmauld Place, with _him_ , for _his_ family. He knew opportunities to spend time with her parents were rare, yet she'd sacrificed so many of them to be with her friends, whom she'd seen everyday for months at school. Now, he was lucky if she met his eyes long enough to glare at him.

In all their years of friendship, he could only think of one other time they'd been this strained, and even then it couldn't really compare. A fight over their pets was far different than a fight over _them_. At least in third year, he could tell she'd wanted to make amends, had known, deep down, that the fight wouldn't last forever. This time recovery seemed much more indefinite. If anything, Hermione was even more stubborn than he was. If he wouldn't apologize, who would? What if their friendship was gone forever? He hadn't missed how she now avoided the common room, spending even _more_ time in the library and disappearing up to her dormitory as soon as she climbed through the portrait hole. Even in class she was subdued, no longer volunteering to answer questions and replying somewhat vaguely when asked, as if she was only half-listening. She didn't seem unhappy, exactly, but she didn't much seem like Hermione, either. He'd even wondered if she was perhaps ill, a fear that was augmented when he'd learned she was taking Cormac McLaggen on a date. Sickness seemed the only explanation as to why she'd ever go out with the likes of him.

He wasn't given much chance to ponder the extent of Hermione's newfound interest in the prick, however, as Lavender took that moment to bound into the common room, practically falling on top of him in her eagerness to press her lips against his.

The only thing he registered as she kissed him was her fingernails, newly painted in aqua and fuchsia stripes.


	20. Bezoars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 19 of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince , "Elf Tales"

"Why. Did. I. Have. To. Find. Out. From. Colin. Creevey," she gasped, punctuating each word with a blow to Harry's shoulder. Out of breath from running up several flights of stairs, and even after nearly knocking over a couple of innocent looking first-years in her haste, she still managed to set Harry rubbing his shoulders and shooting her a reproachful look.

"Ow! Hermione! Look, I didn't intentionally not tell you, I've been waiting for news! I tried to send Ginny—"

Immediately, the redhead in question rolled her eyes, though she looked quite white-faced herself. "As if _I_ was going to leave before we know anything. He's my brother!"

At this, Hermione let out a small sniffle. "So he's—Ron—he's been p-poisoned."

Ginny reached out a comforting hand, but Hermione pulled away almost instantly, rounding in on Harry once more. "Well? Are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to wait to hear the details from _Colin?_ "

She stood in silence as he recalled the story, starting with Romilda Vane and ending with Ron squirming on the floor, foaming at the mouth, _dying_ …. But no, he hadn't, Harry had saved him, Harry had thought of a bezoar, Ron would be alright…. The thoughts swarmed through her head furiously, jumbled so that she couldn't quite think straight. She wanted to sit down, slide down the wall and bury her head between her knees, the way she had after the Yule Ball, after Lavender…. But no, this was a different kind of pain, deeper and exceptionally more terrifying. It couldn't be solved with a good cry, and she couldn't have bent her legs down to sit even if she tried. Ginny and Harry had moved on to discussing motives and suspects, but she let their words wash over her. At the moment, it didn't seem to matter who was responsible for what had happened, just that it had happened.

As they spoke, Ron was behind the tightly shut hospital doors, doing who knew how well, being treated for a _poisoning._ And they hadn't spoken in _months_. She couldn't remember having a real conversation with her best friend since before Christmas. And over what? Petty jealousy? The fact that he had gotten himself a relationship and it didn't include her? So what. If he wanted to date Lavender, then he had every right to. If she had just put her own feelings aside, they could have made up ages ago. Instead she had acted bitter and cruel and Ron, never one to back down, had reciprocated. They had strung the whole thing out for way too long. And while she had been throwing herself a pity party, he had been eating poisoned chocolates….

What if he had _died?_ She couldn't even _remember_ the last pleasant moment they'd had together, before that disastrous Quidditch match. He could have died as she was eating breakfast with the Creevey brothers, before she'd had a chance to apologize, before she'd had a chance to tell him just how much she cared…. She felt her chest constrict. As if from a distance, Harry and Ginny's voices drifted in and out, so that she could catch only half their words. She couldn't have made sense of them if she had tried. It was as if her brain was disjointed, her thoughts not functioning properly. In fact, it was one of the rare occasions where she wondered if it might be better to not think at all. Certainly it would hurt less.

Fred and George arrived soon after, but Hermione was so consumed with her internal fight that she didn't even think to question how they'd managed to get to the castle so quickly, or why Mr. and Mrs. Weasley weren't with them. Harry recounted the events over again for them, and again she twisted them over in her mind. How would she have lived with herself if something worse had happened? Surprisingly, even this thought couldn't reduce her to tears. The dreadfulness seemed too much even for crying. She couldn't shed it, it sat like a heavy weight in her stomach until finally, at long last, Madam Pomfrey opened the door and slipped out to speak with them.

It would have been easy to miss her words, just as she had missed all the others', but she forced herself to pay attention. This was important, after all. This was Ron. "Is he going to be alright?" she heard herself ask, her voice so tight it sounded as if she hadn't spoken in a month. When Madam Pomfrey nodded her head, she felt herself relax. He was going to be okay. He was going to be fine. She repeated the words to herself as she listened to what else Pomfrey had to say, hoping that her reassurances and instructions would sink in. They could visit, but Ron was under heavy medication and wouldn't wake for some time. It was confirmed that the bezoar had saved his life. Madam Pomfrey patted Harry on the back, sniffling. Then they were allowed to enter.

Hermione couldn't help herself. She surged past the others, her eyes skimming the narrow beds for the slightest peek of red hair against the white pillows. She found Ron asleep in the last spot, looking disheveled but otherwise peaceful. She openly breathed a sigh of relief, and, in a moment of unusual boldness, despite the presence of half of Ron's siblings and Harry, she grasped his hand. At his wrist she felt his pulse, and her breathing slowed. Her mind felt clear for the first time since hearing the news, and she almost immediately wanted to take up the investigation with the others. She felt warm. Ron _hadn't_ died. He was wonderfully, gloriously alive, and they had a chance to make things right. She would just have to wait until he woke up.

* * *

 

"Ron?" Hermione called, peeking behind the curtains to his bed. It was early, but she couldn't have waited any longer. Besides, she knew Ginny was planning to come down after Transfiguration, and she wanted to catch Ron at a time when he was alone. Surprisingly, Ron was awake. He shot up when he saw her, then grunted from the effort and fell back into the pillows, eyes wide.

"Hermione?" He glanced at the clock resting on his metal bedside table and turned back to her. "Erm…what are you doing here? Don't you have class?"

"No…I mean, yes, but I-I," She blushed, averting her gaze away from his shocked face, "I wanted to come make sure you were alright," she finished lamely, dropping into the visitor's chair. "I snuck you some bacon." She held it out to him, wrapped up neatly in a napkin, "I know they don't give you good food up here."

Ron took it, but made no effort to eat, still staring at her with a slightly dazed expression.

"So, um, how are you feeling?" She offered feebly.

Ron ignored her. "You skipped a lesson for me," he whispered, his eyes boring into her in disbelief. It wasn't a question, but she nodded. There was a long pause.

"HermioneI'msorry" he blurted out finally, quickly looking away. Hermione waited until he lifted his head back to her before offering him a small smile.

"Me too," she whispered.

Ron looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead just nodded. Still, it was good enough for Hermione. That was about as much as you could expect from Ron, really. In the back of her mind, she wondered if it was their first real apology. Usually things just sort of, fell back into place. Either way, at least it was over. It felt a thousand times better to be friends with Ron than nothing at all. And if friends was all she could get, she would have to learn to accept that.

She shook her head as he leaned back and unwrapped his bacon, devouring all the strips in a few short minutes. When he caught her watching, he shrugged. "You're right, they do only give you the bad stuff up here."

She grinned.

It was crazy how easy it was to lapse back into conversation with him. Sure, the pauses between topics were a beat longer than usual, and their eyes sometimes lingered for a second too long, until they both were furiously turning away. But it wasn't nearly as awkward as she had anticipated. Lavender still hung over them, but more like a few raindrops instead of a full storm. Ron seemed to have perfected the art of not bringing her up in conversation. He told her about the twins' business (which was thriving) and what more Harry had found out about Malfoy (which was not much), and even about Christmas at the Burrow, carefully leaving out that she would have been there too if it hadn't been for Lavender. "How was skiing with your parents?" he asked.

"Oh. Um, I didn't go."

"You didn't?" he narrowed his eyes, "That's what Harry said you were doing."

She blushed despite herself. So he _had_ at least thought of her. "I was," she said hurriedly, "Only, then I backed out. I didn't much feel like going, I guess."

Ron fell silent and she mentally cursed herself. She couldn't have just gone ahead and told him it had been a grand time. She'd chosen the truth without realizing it would bring back the storm. "Skiing's just not really my thing," she added haphazardly, trying to lessen the rising tension. Ron looked unconvinced, but nodded. Still, it would have been enough to keep the conversation going, if Lavender herself hadn't chosen that moment to come barging through the hospital doors, screeching Ron's name.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, sending Hermione a pleading glance right before Lavender appeared around the curtains. When she looked back over at him, his eyes were firmly shut.

"Oh, Won-Won!" Lavender gasped, not forgoing any of the dramatics and falling to the ground beside his bed, reaching out for his hand. "Harry only just told me, I thought you were just ignoring me—" Her eyes narrowed as she saw Hermione in the bedside chair, who was trying not to laugh at the irony. "And what are _you_ doing here?"

"Visiting a friend," Hermione said icily. Lavender rolled her eyes.

"Humph! What a friend you are, you two haven't spoken in months! Though I suppose now that he's suddenly all _interesting_ you want to make up." The girls cheeks reddened, her face fuming.

 _Oh, now that was the last straw—_ "As a matter of fact, I've always found him interesting, and for much better reasons than nearly dying," Hermione spoke between gritted teeth, quickly gathering up her things. Ron was still lying stone still against his pillow, though she noticed the tips of his ears had gone pink.

She paused to glance back at his "sleeping" figure. She really shouldn't…. Ron should have to deal with his own problems, that he got _himself_ into. Yet despite herself, she couldn't help but feel a tinge of giddiness. Ron hadn't faked anything when _she_ arrived. In fact, he had seemed…Happy? Relieved? Anything but annoyed when he saw her. Ignoring the flicker of guilt that shot through her, she turned to Lavender. "Madam Pomfrey put him under a sleeping charm. He won't be up for the rest of the day, so I suggest you come back later." Unable to contain herself she added, a bit too cheerfully, "He seemed well though, when I talked to him."

Leaving Lavender with her mouth open in dismay, Hermione marched towards the doors, grinning.

_But that's the last time I bail you out, Ron Weasley._


	21. The Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place early on in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

_Ron—_

_Would it be alright with your family if I came to stay sooner than expected? Say, Saturday night? I know it's a lot to ask, but I figured out how to take care of my parents and I really need to just do it as soon as possible before I have a chance to change my mind. Please let me know either way!_

_-Hermione_

Ron smoothed the parchment over his leg, trying to straighten out the crumpled mess it had become in the week since he'd gotten it. He had of course responded immediately that she could come over any time she wanted, but the letter made him feel anxious. Hermione was rarely brief. Usually her letters were at least several paragraphs, if not _pages_ , so laced with her jumbled thoughts that he could understand how she was feeling while barely even having to read between the lines. But this was vague. He knew she couldn't go into much detail, given the chance that anyone might intercept the post, but something still seemed off. The handwriting looked more frantic than neat. The words seemed clipped, abrupt at best. He had read them through countless times, but he still couldn't quite figure the letter out. _"I figured out how to take care of my parents."_ What did that mean?

He heard his Mum calling for dinner and pushed the letter aside. It was only Thursday, which meant two more days to ponder what he surely wouldn't know until she got there and told him herself. That was the downside to being best friends with Hermione Granger: it took a lot of work to keep up with her plans.

He reached the kitchen just in time to help carry more plates to the table. Bill, Fleur and the twins were all over for supper. After the incident with Greyback at the end of last year, his mum had lightened up on Fleur immensely, but there was a still a bit of tension in the air, especially with all the stress of the wedding. The table was quieter than usual as he took his seat, and it wasn't until he was scooping potatoes onto his plate that conversation finally took off. Bill got his father started on the Ministry, and he tried his best to listen in as the twins went on about WWW business to Fleur on his other side. His dad had been coming home later and later. He knew the Ministry was on the verge of falling apart and that his dad was trying his best to keep tabs on everything for the Order. Ron had been trying to pick up any bits of information that might possibly help Harry for weeks. But his father only spoke about a run in with Percy, and he quickly lost interest.

"Ginny got her O.W.L. results this morning," his mum said brightly to the table at large.

"Really?" his father said excitedly, turning away from Bill. "How'd you do?" Ginny shot a glare at her mother before reluctantly muttering out her scores to the table. Ron snickered.

"What's that Gin? Only one "O"?" He said playfully. He knew his sister hadn't done as well as she had hoped, and had a sneaking suspicion her relationship with his best friend might have had something to do with it.

"Still more than you managed," Ginny shot back fiercely. "And I doubt you'll do any better on your NEWTs."

"I guess we'll never know, because I won't be there to take them," He retorted, not realizing what he had said until his father's congratulations to Ginny stopped mid sentence.

He could feel seven pairs of eyes boring into him. Fred let out a low whistle to break the silence. After what seemed like a year of silence, his mother spoke. "…Sorry?"

Well, might as well just get it over with, now that he'd already dug himself down this deep, he thought miserably. He supposed his mum might need some time to accept it, anyway. Better to get through all that before Hermione arrived. He took another bite of potatoes to buy himself some time before finally looking up to meet her narrowed eyes. "We—Harry, Hermione and I—we aren't going back. To Hogwarts," he added hastily, as if that weren't obvious. He could see her eyes flickering dangerously as she processed his words.

His father looked much calmer, and Ron focused on him instead.

"Why?"

"We have something we need to do. I can't say much, but it's important." He suddenly wished he hadn't done this at the dinner table. Bill's gaze was piercing. Nobody was touching their food.

" _What_ could be more important than your education?" his mother cut in, her voice reaching the level of shrillness she reserved only for those moments in which she was one wrong comment away from losing it completely. She was like a howler, steaming before bursting into life. He gulped.

It was too late to back down now. There was no use in giving in when he knew that what she wanted to hear wasn't the answer he could truthfully give. They were going. "It's something, a mission, that Dumbledore needed Harry to do," he said carefully, "And Hermione and I are going with him to do it."

Much to his shock, his mother's face softened. But he wasn't given much of a chance to revel in his luck before all was made clear. "Well you clearly misunderstood him, dear."

Of course she couldn't just trust him. "We understood," he said firmly.

"There is no possible way Albus would have encouraged you three to drop out of school and go gallivanting around on some secret 'mission'!" She shrieked, her voice resuming it's previously heightened tone. "You must have misunderstood. Perhaps it was something Harry was supposed to tell the Order to do? Or something Dumbledore was planning to do himself that now Harry wrongly believes he must take on?"

"No, Mum. It's Harry who's got to do it. We've got to do it. The three of us."

"I will not let my son throw away his future to run off with his friends and do something foolish on impulse!"

"Well then it's a good thing it's not up to you!" Ron barked, slamming his silverware onto the table.

"Ron…." Bill said quietly beside him. He ignored him.

"No! I'm not a kid anymore, Mum. I'm seventeen and I can decide for myself whether or not I'm going back to school! It's not so much 'throwing away my future' when I'm trying to make sure we get a future in the first place! I'm going, whether you want me to or not."

His words were met with a resounding silence. Fred and George looked uncharacteristically dumbstruck. Ginny was staring at her plate, toying with the ripped up edge of her napkin and pulling it further apart into bits. Bill was still watching him evenly, a strange look on his face, hand clenched around Fleur's. And then his dad, eyes focused with apprehension on his mum, whose face was so strained he could barely imagine the type of speech she was forming in her mind. He certainly wasn't going to stick around to hear it. "I'm not hungry," he muttered, pulling away his half-eaten plate to the sink before dismissing himself upstairs.

He hadn't meant for it to go that poorly. It was obvious that his mother would be upset (this was Molly Weasley, after all) but he hadn't expected to lose his own temper so quickly in return. Someone would be up any moment, probably to yell at him. He sighed and returned to his bed, resuming his perusal of Hermione's letter halfheartedly. Sure enough, he had only half an hour of peace before someone was knocking at his door. He expected it to be his father, or maybe Bill. It was Ginny.

"I'm sorry," she said as she entered without permission, "It was stupid of me to bring up N.E.W.T.s, I wasn't thinking when I said that."

He rolled over on the bed to face her, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it, Gin. It had to happen eventually."

"Yeah…." She trailed off, eyes glazed as she looked out the window. "I wish you could tell me what you were doing. I hate not knowing. I wish I could help."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could get a word in. "I understand though, even if I don't like it. I support you."

She tore her gaze from the window and met his eyes.

"Thanks, Ginny."

* * *

 

Hermione didn't arrive on Saturday. She hadn't specified a time, but by supper she still hadn't come. Then it was eight, then nine, then ten. Still nothing. He kept glancing out his window, hoping to catch her apparating into the yard, but to no avail. He didn't get her owl until quarter to eleven. It was just one word, scrawled haphazardly onto a tiny slip of paper: _"Tomorrow."_ And so he waited some more.

He was awoken by the sound of her voice and her gentle prodding. "Ron, Ron—"

He shifted to look at her, ready to let out an exaggerated grown at being forced awake at such an hour, but was stopped short by her face, which was streaked with tears. He scrambled up to a sitting position, eyes wide.

"What's up Hermione?"

She sniffled, swiping a hand across her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up so early, but Ginny let me in, and…and I needed to talk to someone. To you."

He scooted over so that she could sit beside him on the bed, and she complied, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her head between them. How was it that she still managed to look beautiful like that? With her face all puffy and her hair wilder than ever? He fought to remember what that book the twins had gotten him had said to do when a girl was crying. He could even recall folding down the corner of the page for future reference—Hermione was an emotional person.

All he could remember was it saying something about physical contact, so he flung his arm around her. Much to his dismay, he seemed to have made the right choice. Hermione drew closer to him until her legs were pressed against his and she was crying against his shoulder, like she had at Dumbledore's funeral. He stroked her hair down her back as her soft tears soaked through his shirt. "What happened?" He asked finally.

Her answer came out with a choked sob. "Th-they don't remember me. I wiped their m-memories."

"What? Whose memories?"

"My parents." It came out almost inaudibly, and he could feel a knot of dread forming in his stomach. So that's what _"taking care of my parents"_ had meant. "I sent them to Australia. I had to. I had to p-protect them."

"You made them forget about you?"

She nodded. "They don't even know they have a daughter. I made sure to do it well. I removed myself from all the pictures, I took all of my documents…." She gestured to a tiny beaded bag around her wrist. "Extendable charm," she explained, meeting his confused gaze. "I wanted to tell them, before I did it," she sniffled, "But they'd never have gone along with it. They wouldn't have understood that it was the only way. I haven't told them much, about the war, see. You should have seen their faces," she was full-on sobbing again, "When I drew my wand, they looked so _scared_. They were _afraid_ of me, Ron."

"But you can fix it, right?" He meant it to be consoling, but it came out apprehensive.

She nodded. "It's reversible, so if I come back after all this I can go and find them. And they'll hate me for what I did." He clenched his fingers around hers.

"They won't, Hermione," he whispered. She just shook her head.

"If…If I don't make it, they'll be happy in Australia. I made sure of that." His breath hitched. He wanted to tell her that they'd be safe, that of course she was going to make it, but they both knew it was a lie. He'd sacrifice everything to make sure she survived this, but what if that wasn't enough? He settled instead for just squeezing her hand.

"We're really doing this." She was pulling herself together, and he had to stop himself from letting out a sigh as he felt her weight leave his and her hand pull away.

"We have to. Harry wouldn't last a day without us," He joked. Hermione chuckled, standing up and smoothing down her clothes.

There was a long pause as they simply stared at one another, the weight of what they were about to do hitting them both at once. Then her arms were around him, hugging him fiercely. He wasn't sure how long they lingered there, intertwined against one another, but it seemed like an eternity.

Then she was gone, before he had a chance to clear his mind.


	22. On The Brink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter spans chapter 8 "The Wedding," and chapter 9, "A Place to Hide" of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

It wasn't that she wasn't happy to see Victor, really. It was nice even, after all the letters they'd sent back and forth, to see that he was doing so well. But could his timing have _been_ any more inconvenient? She could see him weaving through the crowds towards their table, and chanced a glance at Ron. He looked almost as surly as he had the night of the Yule Ball, his eyes also focused on Krum. With a sickening feeling, she wondered if tonight would end up just as poorly as that one had. She just couldn't catch a break, could she?

As he sat down, she fiddled with the hem of her dress to avoid making eye contact. The garment was something she had picked out specifically for the wedding, with her mother. Bill and Fleur's impending nuptials had been one of the few things she could freely talk about with her parents, and she'd done so in excess. After all, how could they ever expect a war, as long as Hermione only brought home news of weddings? She almost wished it had worked a little less perfectly. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so guilty.

Shopping for the dress had initially been just an excuse to spend time with her mum, but she really did love what they had found. The lilac color reminded her of the flowers surrounding the burrow, and the dress was just flouncy enough to look feminine, but not too girly. She'd even softened her hair and dabbed on some of the perfume Ron had once given her. But now it seemed as if the night was destined for ruin.

As Victor sat down, he spoke with venom. "Who is that man in the yellow?"* At least he hadn't come over to pursue her further. Internally breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione let her fingers slide away from the fabric of her dress and looked up. Both Victor and Ron wore scowls. Ron was avidly defending Mr. Lovegood. Then he turned to look at her. "Come and dance,"* he said abruptly, holding out his hand. She had to do a double take. Was it really Ron who had spoken? He was standing over her expectedly, so it must have been. Puzzled, but growing more pleased by the moment as it all sunk in, she jumped up (perhaps a bit too excitedly. _Way to be subtle, Hermione)_ , and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor.

He pulled her towards the center of the floor, so that they were surrounded by other guests spinning and twirling in their robes and dresses. The music had slowed. The band was playing a downtempo melody, and Ron took one of her hands in his own, putting his other around her waist and pulling her closer. She rested her own on his shoulder, and they began to sway slowly to the music. He was staring at her intently, and the whole situation seemed so surreal she had to hold back from laughing. Since when did Ron Weasley ask her to dance? If he had done it three years ago, maybe they'd actually be somewhere by now.

"Are you sure you're not someone polyjuiced to look like Ron?" She said softly, as he raised his arm to allow her to do a twirl.

He raised and eye at her. "What makes you say that?"

What? _That the Ron she knew would never have been so bold, so gentlemanly?_ She certainly couldn't say that. She settled instead for, "I didn't know you could dance."

"Well, it's not my first wedding," he responded, still eying her closely, "The Weasleys are a big family."

She frowned, trying to picture him dancing all this time, with other girls, at other weddings. It was strange to think of him in a way so apart from the context in which she knew him. He wasn't bad, either. Certainly better than she was, a feat usually reserved only for quidditch and chess.

He grinned at her. "Well now that my hidden talent has been revealed, you've got to tell me something I don't know about _you_. It's only fair."

She considered this. They never really talked about life before Hogwarts. Anything about life as a muggle was fair game. Finally settling on a moment from childhood, she responded, "In primary school, before I knew I was a witch, I got voted most likely to become Prime Minister." She smiled to herself at the memory. She had been so excited when her name had been called in front of the whole class. That is, until Bobby Hughes had leaned over to whisper to her that everybody had voted for her because she was so bossy, and the Prime Minister could boss people around most of all, if he wanted.

Ron was laughing. "What?" She said, a bit defensively.

"That doesn't count, that's obvious. I already knew you've always been brilliant. It can't be something about school."

She rolled her eyes, but held back a retort. "Fine," she snapped, thinking it over. "I don't know, I guess I'm not that interesting."

It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "You're extremely interesting, Hermione." She could see the tips of his ears growing noticeably redder. Hurriedly he continued, "What about the first time you used magic?"

"I don't really remember it. I was only a baby."

"Ahead of everyone else, as usual," Ron snickered.

She blushed. "My Mum and Dad both worked, and I got left with a sitter all the time. I never wanted them to leave, and I was always crying as they did. Then one morning, as my Mum was holding me to say goodbye, I got chickenpox, out of nowhere, just like that. She looked down and I was covered in red spots, which she could have sworn hadn't been there only a minute before," she couldn't help but laugh at the thought of her mother's bafflement, unaware that magic even existed, let alone that her daughter had it within her. "It's contagious, too, if you haven't had it before, and she hadn't. She was home for weeks!"

Ron had started laughing as well, and the couples around them sent them odd looks as they swayed. Hermione was about to ask him about _his_ first use of magic, but the music had sped up again, leaving little room for chit chat. She just looked at him, instead, and laughed as he tried to keep her in tune with his own steps.

He was wearing the dress robes that Fred and George had bought him, but even they were already slightly outgrown. The off-colored socks visible in the space between the robes and his shoes were so incredibly _Ron_ that she couldn't help but smile. Though her feet ached in their heels, and she was growing breathless from all the dancing, she couldn't help but wish they could stay like this forever. When was the next time they'd be this happy, this carefree? Here with Ron, it was easy to believe that this wedding was the only thing that mattered, to forget that even as the party stretched on, there was a war happening just beyond the marquee.

Her tiny beaded bag laced across her chest and thumped against her hip as she moved. Everything they needed was in there. They were about to leave, and who knew what awaited them in the search for Horcruxes? In the moment, she didn't care. All that seemed to matter was the music guiding their movements, and Ron's hand, still clutching her own, their palms sweaty as they rubbed against one another.

But then the music had ended, and his hand withdrew.

The moment had passed, leaving her gasping for air and clutching her side. "I'll go find us more butterbeers, and you can go find Harry," Ron said between his own unsteady breaths. She nodded and began to make her way through the throng of people, scoping out her best friend, her mind racing. She felt like a giddy schoolgirl analyzing every interaction with her crush, and mentally scolded herself. It wasn't like a dance was life-changing. Yet somehow it felt better than any of the handful of kisses she'd been a part of. It had made her feel like things might somehow turn out okay after all. What a thought that was.

* * *

 

By the time Harry's labored breathing filled the room, it was well into the night. Hermione rolled over, lifting her head to ensure he was asleep. Her body sank in the dip between the two sofa cushions that Ron had pushed together for her makeshift mattress. In actuality, she wasn't convinced the setup was all that better than the floor when it came to comfort, but Ron had been so adamant it would have felt wrong to refuse. She didn't know quite what had brought on his sudden bursts of chivalry, but she couldn't say she minded. It was rather sweet of him, really. "Ron?" She whispered towards his restless form, turned away from her. "Are you still awake?"

She saw movement through the darkness, and then he was looking up at her, his face illuminated in the shadows. "You alright?" He asked, worry laced across his face. She nodded quickly.

"Yes. I just...can't sleep." How could she, given all that happened? One minute she was twirling on the dance floor with seemingly nothing to worry about, the next she was fighting off death eaters in cafés and running away to Grimmauld place (which was decidedly creepier when they were its only inhabitants).

"Me neither," admitted Ron, pulling himself up onto his elbows so that he could look at her properly. "You were brilliant, you know, packing everything just in case like that."

"I just had a feeling...," answered Hermione, dropping back onto her pillow and staring at the ceiling. The cobwebs on the chandelier had reappeared since the Order left. She tried not to shudder. "So this is it." She paused, wondering if she should really voice her thoughts. But she had to talk to someone, and out of her two current options, Harry was most definitely out of the question. So that left Ron. Did he feel the same way, or would he think her foolish? "Are you scared?" She said finally, in a voice so soft she wondered if he had even heard it. But after a weighty pause, he whispered back.

"Yes."

She shut her eyes, glad they were no longer looking at one another. "I guess we'd be crazy not to be." She readjusted herself on the cushions, fiddling with the blankets. "If you could go back, would you still sit with him on the train, if you knew all that would happen? Would you have let yourself become best friends with him?"

"Yes."

Of course Ron would have, she had known that already, really. She had only asked to make more time to figure out how to word it for herself. "I don't know if I would have," she confessed, as if admitting some horrible crime, "Oh god, that sounds even more terrible out loud than it did it my head. I just mean..."

Ron cut her off, "You wonder sometimes how much easier it would be if you weren't best friends with the-boy-who-lived."

She nodded, then realized he probably couldn't see her, and whispered out a soft confirmation.

"I do that too, Hermione. I mean come on, you remember fourth year, I did nothing but that. But it doesn't mean you wouldn't have been friends with him even if you knew all the bad stuff. Of course you would have." He said it with such conviction, such confidence, that she wanted to cry.

"Maybe. Hell, I don't even know why I'm a Gryffindor Ron. I hardly feel 'brave,' or any of that rubbish. I'm terrified, absolutely terrified."

"Hermione, you're the bravest person I know. But that doesn't mean you can't be scared. If you weren't, you'd be reckless. And going up against one of the darkest wizards of all time, being reckless equals being stupid. If I'm certain of anything, it's that Hermione Granger isn't stupid." She chuckled. "And it doesn't matter whether or not your eleven year old self would become friends with Harry if you knew you'd end up here or not, because you _did_ become friends with him, and you _are_ here, and I know that you'd never back out now. _That's_ bravery."

That much was true. She could never abandon Harry now, could never even dream of it. She had been fighting alongside him for years now, and she didn't regret it one bit. Some things were worth fighting for. "You're pretty smart yourself, Ron," she said quietly. "I'm really glad we became friends with him. And each other. To know that I'm not the only person standing by him, that means a lot to me." She tried to put a lot of meaning into those words. She wanted him to know what he meant to her, how deeply she cared. She wanted to just outright tell him everything. Let him know she loved him, lean over and kiss him, just like that, and damn what anyone else thought about it. But it didn't take long for her logic to kick in, and she knew she couldn't do it. It wasn't the right time, not now.

They had missed their shot, for the time being, at least. There was a war going on, and they couldn't afford being anything more than friends as long as that was the case. Their job was to focus on the mission at hand, on Harry. There was no room for distractions. Everything else had to be locked away until Voldemort was dead and gone. It was the only way. So she tried to communicate all of it through her words: not just her love, but the need to postpone it, and the reassurance that after it was all over, she was ready.

She wasn't sure if she succeeded. All he said was "It means something to me too." He didn't say what. But a few minutes later, after they had said goodnight, she felt his hand groping for hers, clenching it tightly in the dark. That didn't break her rules, she told herself, even though it pretty much did. It made it easier to fall asleep, somehow, having their hands intertwined.

*quotes taken directly from page 149 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_


	23. Gone

Dry blood was still caked underneath her fingernails. _Ron's_ blood. Her hands had been shaking so much when she had cast the cleaning charm that it had done a rather poor job of cleaning. Hard to imagine, that just yesterday they had been sipping Kreacher's best mushroom soup, planning how to break into the ministry. Today they had succeeded, impossibly, and she had blood beneath her fingernails. It still didn't seem quite real. Planning had been one thing, but doing was quite another. While none of their plans ever went _right_ , exactly, this one seemed to have failed them even more so than usual. Sure it had gotten them inside alright, but there was a big, gaping, plan-less hole in between getting in and getting out that she couldn't believe she had overlooked.

As she examined her fingernails, the crushing weight of failure pressed upon her. Yes, they had gotten the locket in the end, but they had come very close to an abrupt end to their journey altogether. They had gotten split up, they had very nearly been _caught_ , Ron had almost died. It was like acing a test but failing the essay question. Getting the locket was an undeserved miracle. And it was all her fault, really. _How_ could she have not seen this coming? It was her job to develop their plans to the point where they would actually _work_. She was supposed to see the potential downfalls, to plan for the worst case scenarios. Instead, they had been pulled in different directions almost immediately after stepping through the doors. The plan seemed childish now, even foolish, so flimsy that she was shocked it had done them _any_ good to begin with. She felt incredibly naïve.

"My turn," said a voice behind her. She stood up shakily as Harry sat down in her place. She wanted to say something, to apologize for the terrible meal, for losing Grimmauld Place, for the "plan" that had nearly gotten them killed. But as they always seemed to do in these situations, words failed her, and instead she slipped wordlessly back inside.

"Ron?" She whispered, peering through the dim lighting of the tent to his figure on the lower bunk. He was turned away from her, and there was no response. Disappointment rushed through her, and right after, more guilt. How selfish was she? Half his upper arm had been sheared off, and she was upset that she couldn't dump her own problems on him. She had hardly done much for him, unless you counted feeding him tasteless mushrooms for supper, yet she still yearned for _his_ comfort. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she sat on her bed and pulled off her shoes. She hadn't even been able to patch him up that well. He wouldn't be able to move his arm for days, and even when that healed, there was sure to be a permanent scar. He probably hated her.

"Hermione? Are you crying?" He said softly. She jumped at the noise.

"No! No," she said quickly. Her voice was too pitched, he was sure to see through the lie, but she wiped at her eyes nonetheless to cover her tracks. He said nothing. "Do you need anything? I can...I can make more tea?" Desperately she tried to think of other things she could do, but came up dry. _Why hadn't she thought to pack real food?_ _He must be starving._

"I'm fine. Actually—I was just wondering—do you think the Cattermoles got out alright?"

"Oh, um...," She was taken aback by the question, "Yeah, I think they did." What was she going to say? _'Actually they're probably dining with the dementors as we speak'?_ They _had_ to have gotten away, they just had to have. But how could she know for sure? Surely Ron knew that.

But her flimsy reassurance seemed to have been enough, because Ron responded with, "Good. Me too."

There was silence for a long while before his snores filled the room.

* * *

 

The locket was a very unwelcome addition to their little trio. They exchanged it between them on the same schedule they used for the watch, so that those who weren't wearing it could communicate with the person who was as minimally as possible. The problem was that there was no amount of time that was minimal enough for anyone's comfort. Hermione had never felt so constantly irritated. She couldn't decide what was worse, having it on, or having it off and having to deal with whoever had it on.

There was no denying the effects of the locket. She had scoured her books in the hopes of finding an explanation, and desirably a way to stop it, but nobody seemed to have been around a horcrux long enough to document the experience. She could find nothing. Still, she didn't give up the search, if only to look occupied enough to not have to interact with the boys. Even if they weren't wearing the locket, neither one of them was exactly sunshine lately.

It was as if all their unfavorable qualities had been heightened from the lack of food and the lack of progress. Harry was altogether more irritable. Even asking him what time he wanted to rotate places could cause him to go off on her. Almost without end, he repeated the list of remaining horcruxes, but offered no suggestions on how to go about finding them, or even how to destroy the one they already had. Ron was particularly (and openly) annoyed by this. She tried her best to give Harry the benefit of the doubt, but even she had to admit that she'd expected him to know more than he did. How were they supposed to find these things with absolutely no leads? It seemed impossible, and she had to wonder if they were really just wasting their time. If it was all a useless search, and they were simply postponing an inevitable doom.

But although Harry got on her nerves, Ron was altogether worse. She refused to speak a word to him when he wore the locket, but the improvement when it was off, though undeniable, was slight. She didn't think she could stand to hear him talk about his mother's cooking, as a complaint against her own, one more time. She was well aware that the meals she prepared were no good, but she was trying her best. It was impossible to make something out of nothing, and besides, she would like to see him do better! Yet even if he wasn't complaining about the food, he was complaining about their search (or lack there of), or Harry using 'Voldemort' instead of 'You-Know-Who', or Hermione taking too long to wash up before bed. One time he had annoyed her so much from outside the bathroom door as she was brushing her teeth that she had opened it up to fling a towel at him, then slammed it closed only to take twice as long. But she did her best not to egg him on by bickering. It would only make things worse, and things were plenty bad as they were.

A week passed, and then two. It seemed like much longer. It had only taken a few days, really, for things to deteriorate. They had melted into a state of mutual avoidance, and nobody seemed to want to make much of an effort to turn things around. That is, until one morning, the first since the events at the Ministry, when she finally got a respite. It was only an hour into her watch when Harry came out and demanded the locket from her with no explanation. Thoroughly confused, but not wanting to ask and have him change his mind, she had relinquished it quickly. A few minutes later, Ron had joined her outside the tent, plopping down beside her and grinning at her with a look she hadn't seen for weeks. She was amazed at her luck. Harry had taken the locket from her early _and_ Ron was in a rare good mood? It was as if Christmas had come early.

It wasn't Christmas, but as it turned out, it was her birthday. She had completely forgotten. She hadn't even been thinking about it, really. There wasn't much to celebrate, after all, unless you counted a probable death at 18 better than one at 17. But Ron had remembered, and he was happy, and _that_ was definitely worth celebrating.

"I bought you a gift, and I was going to bring it, but I didn't expect we'd have to run out during the wedding, you know? Shame though, because it was good. You would have liked it. But I thought of something else, anyway, since you can't have the other one yet...an 'on the run' present, if you will." He paused, as if for effect, "Harry and I are going to switch off on the locket so you don't have to wear it at all today. _And_ we're going to use the invisibility cloak to sneak into that muggle village and nick something good to eat. _And_ we'll cook it so you don't have to. Not bad, eh?"

"Really?" It was almost too good to be true. "That sounds great, Ron, really. But...I don't know about the food. It's too risky."

Ron just rolled his eyes. "I'll go so Harry won't have to. Low risk. Hermione Granger is not going to eat boiled mushrooms on her birthday."

How could she argue with that? "Oh! That reminds me, I have something for you, too! I've been meaning to give it to you—" she tugged open the beaded bag and began riffling through it.

"Hermione, you can't give me something. It's not even my birthday. This is just going to make my gift look even worse than it is."

"Excuse you, I think yours is an excellent gift!" What was most excellent about it was that his attitude had improved by a tenfold, but she wasn't going to say _that_ , of course. "Besides, this isn't anything too great, don't get that excited. Ah hah!" She felt the envelope between her fingers and pulled it out from amongst the books. Inside was a thin stack of photos that she handed to Ron.

"I was packing your clothes," she explained hastily, "and they were just in your drawer and I thought you might like them, you know, since we're away."

She peered over his shoulder as he flipped through them. The first one was the old picture of the Weasleys in Eygpt. Taped to the back was the newspaper clipping announcing that Mr. Weasley had won money from the Ministry. It was strange to see the whole family, even Percy, smiling and waving. She wondered how they were doing now. Ginny would be back at Hogwarts, she realized. Next was a slightly updated photo, from fifth year, after Mr. Weasley had been attacked. The Weasleys were all posed around his hospital bed at St. Mungo's, wearing their Christmas sweaters. The last photo was from the same Christmas, but it was just of her, Harry and Ron. They were laughing in front of the fire at Grimmauld Place. She didn't even remember it being taken, but it was an awfully nice photo. They looked happy. They hadn't exactly _been_ happy, either. Mr. Weasley was in the hospital, after all. But they sure looked it. That was the beauty of a photograph, she thought vaguely. You could look at just a moment and imagine that it had all been like that.

Ron flipped back to the one of his family and studied it for a few more minutes before speaking. "I was right, this does make my present look like shit," he said finally.

"Don't be stupid, they're already yours, anyway. I just forgot to mention I brought them."

"They're brilliant. Thanks, Hermione."

They smiled at one another. They talked about things that ultimately meant little and didn't require explanations. He sat outside with her for the rest of her watch, until he had to switch out with Harry for the locket. They had egg sandwiches for supper. Harry made an exception for her birthday, and no one had to wear the locket. For the first time in weeks, they laughed. She should have done more to remember it, to capture the happiness of the moment like a photograph. Because it didn't last.

* * *

 

It was raining when he left. She called after him, she begged him to stay. The water had soaked her hair and her clothes and she'd stood there shivering in the cold as he disapparated. His words rang in her ears: _"You choose him."_ He had to know it wasn't like that. She chose _him_ , of course she chose him. It had always been him. But this was bigger than them, this was so much bigger. If he had known that would he have stayed? He had to have known. He should have stayed.

She wept. She didn't bother to change out of her soaking clothes or into her pajamas. She just fell into her bed and wrapped herself in his blankets. They smelled like him. She cried as the rain pounded against the tent. She felt numb. How could he? He had promised her, he had said _no matter what_ , he had said _together_. Had all of that meant nothing? Was all of that just words? She hated him. She was glad he was gone. She didn't need him. Oh, but she loved him. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

But he was gone.


	24. Shell Cottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place around the beginning of chapter 16, "Godric's Hollow" of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Apologies for the lack of Hermione in this one.

Bloody hell, he wished Fleur would put her wand down. He had answered the safety question, what more did she want? Maybe he had taken a moment too long in thinking of the answer and she was still nervous that he was an imposter. His mind didn't seem to be working very well at the moment, after all.

From the moment he had left, everything was a blur. He could remembering apparating, one forest after another, calling out frantically for two people who were sure to never forgive him. He remembered the sharp sting of failure each time, and the booming realization that it was of no use. He wasn't going back. As if from a fading dream, he remembered the Snatchers. They had roughed him around fairly hard, and he knew his cheek was bleeding from some of the blows he'd had to endure before managing to snatch their wands. His finger was coated in red too, though that was more his fault. Splinched again. Pathetic.

"Ze others. Where are they?" Fleur said determinedly, wand still pointed. He shrank at the words. He didn't know. Dear god, he didn't know. He felt tears prickling his eyes and shook his head aimlessly in response.

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "Are zey alright? Should we be sending for zem?" He couldn't help it, the tears began to fall. He had no idea if they were alright. Surely they could hold their own, he had no doubt of that. It wasn't like he had been the one holding things together, they didn't need him by any means. But he had run right into a gang of Harry Potter hunters. Harry and Hermione couldn't possibly know about that. What if they apparated themselves right into a pack of them by accident? And the burlier man, the one who had nearly choked him before he'd gasped out the first name he could think of that wasn't his own…he had said something about a taboo…. Ron felt like retching again. He had no way to warn them. They could be dead. They could be being tortured. There was no way to warn them, no way to get back….

"Ronald?" said Fleur, this time more urgently.

  
"I-I don't know. I mean, they're fine. I think they're fine. They were fine when I left." '

"Left?" She finally lowered her wand and gestured him inside, her hardened face from moments before melting into one of concern, "I will floo for Bill, at your Auntie Muriel's."

"No!" Ron said too quickly. "Please, don't—I don't want my whole family to know I'm back. That's why I came here, I—" He stopped. He didn't want to admit that he didn't think he could handle his parents' disappointment. Bill would be less than pleased with him, most definitely, but at least he knew his eldest brother would not shun him away.

Fleur was studying him, and he felt suddenly self conscious as he considered his appearance. How he looked was the least of his problems, but from the look on her face, he could tell he must be in rough shape. It must look worse than it felt. He was numb, but he didn't feel any physical pain. The true wear of his last few months ran much deeper than the skin.

But if Fleur was disgusted by his appearance, or even curious, she made no comment. Instead, she disappeared down the hallway and returned a few moments later with several jars of potions, one of which Ron recognized immediately as Dittany. Carefully, she used her wand to siphon the caked blood off of his check and cleaned the wound with dittany. Then she applied a dark purple liquid on top, to "help with ze scarring." Afterwards she fixed up his finger. It was only when she began to examine his splinched shoulder, exposed partially by a long tear in his shirt, that he shrugged her away. "That's been there," he said quickly. He didn't need the added questions.

For the rest of the time until Bill's arrival, there was little conversation. Fleur made him soup, of which he took only a few spoonfuls before pushing it away. His appetite, which yesterday had seemed all-consuming, now had disappeared completely. He thought of Harry and Hermione, most likely eating mushrooms, and dropped his spoon with a clang. He couldn't believe himself. It was the worst thing he had ever done, hands down, and he had done some pretty fucked up stuff. When he thought Crookshanks had killed Scabbers and he'd ignored Hermione for months, when Harry had been selected for the Triwizard Tournament and he'd accused him of entering for glory, the entire fiasco with Lavender…none of that came even close to what he was feeling now. None of his past mistakes had ever seemed so utterly beyond repair. The two people who mattered most to him, besides his family, and he had lost them forever. He knew they could never forgive him, and he didn't deserve their forgiveness. He wanted more than anything to blame his actions on the locket, but he knew he couldn't. The words he had said, the feelings behind them…they had been amplified, perhaps, but they were his own.

For Fleur's part, she remained uncharacteristically silent. He noticed her watching him from the corner of her eye as she washed the stack of dishes in the sink without magic, scrubbing at each one furiously. After at least an hour, which felt more like a decade, there was loud pop from outside and Fleur hurried to the door, drawing her wand once again. But his brother's voice, muffled by the wood, answered her question without hesitation.

"Well, she agreed to let them stay with her, if need be," Bill was saying as he slide through the door, "but Mum's not allowed to do the cooking unless—" He stopped mid-sentence as he spotted Ron at the table and spun around wildly to look at Fleur, as if he wasn't quite sure he was seeing correctly and needed confirmation. She nodded, and he flung back around.

"Hey," Ron muttered feebly. It had been so long since he'd seen anyone from his family. If only they weren't meeting again like this….

_"Ron?"_ He scanned the room quickly, and Ron could tell what he was thinking before he even asked. "Ron…Harry and Hermione aren't…?"

He shook his head furiously. They weren't. He had gone through the list of possible scenarios and there was no way…Hermione was too brilliant, Harry too good at defense. They would find a way to get themselves out of any trouble. They always did. Why should this be any different? In fact, they were probably even better, now that he wasn't there to slow them down. He had always felt that he held them back.

Bill had visibly relaxed. "If they're alright...why are you here?"

"I—" It was better to just say it, Bill would force it out of him anyway. "I walked out," he mumbled, shame welling up in him once more. Bill's scarred face contorted into one of confusion, but he said nothing. There was silence for a long time.

"I will show you to ze guest room, Ron," Fleur said eventually, starchily breaking up the tension of the noiselessness. He followed her down the hall and into a small corner bedroom, decorated crisply with a matching light blue bed and set of drawers. When she had left, he emptied out the few contents of his rucksack. Some clothing. Socks. The muggle radio he had snatched from his dad's workshop and never quite figured out how to work, the deluminator. He rolled it around in his hand, clicked the lights on and off a few times, thought about what it could mean, what secrets it could be hiding. He had given up on it long ago, but now....  _Surely_ Dumbledore had given it to him for reason. But he came up with nothing. The device seemed as useless as ever. Or maybe that was just him. He tossed it aside.

At the very bottom of his bag were the pictures Hermione had brought along and returned to him, their edges wrinkled from being looked at, and bent from sitting at the bottom of his rucksack. He flipped past the ones of his family, whose every detail he had memorized weeks ago, and to the least battered of the three, the one he hadn't ever removed from his bag. There had been no need to look at an old picture of his friends when he had the real things right there. Now he wasn't as lucky, and so hungrily he soaked in their images like he had that of his family. It was hard to imagine them as anything other than thin, strained, broken…the way they had been for the past few months, which seemed to have stretched on for years. But here they were, smiling, laughing even. He focused on Hermione. It had been so long since he'd seen her looking so bright, her eyes aglow, crinkled at the edges, her hair, clipped just below the shoulders, bouncing as she turned her head to laugh at something his younger self had said. He couldn't look at it anymore. He had given all of that up by walking out. They would never be the same again. Furiously, he shoved the picture back into a pocket of his bag.

Even when Fleur's voice called out to him, he didn't emerge for dinner.

* * *

 

"How about a game of chess, Ron?" Bill said, appearing in the doorway with his arms crossed. It has been three days. Ron was shocked it had taken him this long.

"I'm not telling you anything," He responded, averting his eyes. He had been expecting this, but Bill _had_ to understand that he couldn't give details. He had already betrayed Harry enough and he had no intentions of doing so again. The mission was a secret and it was going to stay that way.

Bill was unswayed. "Look Ron, you can't just waltz in here, covered in blood, without your friends, and expect me to let it go like nothing's happened. I've given you three days. It's time for answers. I'll set the board up downstairs."

It was what they used to do whenever Bill returned from Egypt for a few days. They played chess and talked... Bill about life as a curse breaker, and Ron about everything he had missed at home. Did Bill really think the same strategy for information would work now, with something so much more serious? Well Ron wanted to know things, too. And he had gotten a lot better at chess.

By the time Ron made his way downstairs, Bill had already set out the pieces. Ron was white. He moved first. It took only a few moves to see his first real opportunity, and he sacrificed his knight for two pawns, putting him in the perfect position for a future attack on Bill's king. His older brother wasn't bad, but he played a straight game. Therefore, he was easily beatable.

When one of them made a capture, the other talked, and they rallied back and forth. He asked about the taboo. The Order had found out about it about a month ago. Whenever someone said Voldemort's name the Snatchers were alerted to their location. Basic wards were supposed to deter it, but it was difficult to know how well they worked, and no one was quite willing to try it out to see. He wanted to ask for more about the Snatchers, but Bill had just taken his knight. His turn to fess up.

Much to his relief, Bill started off relatively light. "What happened to your shoulder?"

"Splinched," Ron said crisply, making his next move.

"How?"

"How do you think?"

Bill narrowed his eyes. "You're not supposed to be apparating for a reason, Ron."

He actually laughed at this. As if illegal apparation was their biggest issue here. If only Bill knew. "It wasn't even me, it was Hermione," he said without thinking. Damn, this chess thing actually worked. He would have to focus less on the game and more on his words.

" _Hermione_ splinched you? What the hell were you doing for _her_ to lose concentration?"

" _That_ will require a another capture," Ron said instantly. But a few moves later, when Bill had done it, he refused to answer. Revealing that they had broken into the ministry would be disastrous, and he couldn't think of a good enough lie to give as the reason instead. Bill only protested a little.

"These "Snatchers," are they Death Eaters?" Ron asked, diverting the conversation back to safer territory.

"Nah, but wannabes, mostly. Or at least people so desperate to keep themselves safe that they'll do anything to stay on You-Know-Who's good side. They're a ferocious bunch though. Lupin said they've even got the werewolf Greyback in their leagues."

"What do they do to you if they catch you?"

"They mostly catch Muggle Borns on the run, and they turn them over to the ministry. But who they're really looking for is Harry, obviously."

Ron gulped, commanding his next move absentmindedly. When he had knocked out another one of Bill's pieces, he asked about his family. They were doing okay. Ginny didn't say much in her letters, but they gathered that she was managing alright given the circumstances. With an increasing number of closings in Diagon Alley, the joke shop was thriving more so than ever. Laughter needed in dark times and all that. Mum stared at the family clock more so than was probably good for her health. Percy was still a prat. Little had changed. Ron felt simultaneously relived and angry. He had let paranoia get the best of him when he had been on the run. His family was fine.

The game continued. Bill asked how he knew about the Snatchers and he had had to admit to having a run in. He asked why Bill had gone to Muriel's. Bill asked if Harry or Hermione had been splinched or injured as well. He asked about the Order.

"…Checkmate," Bill said, his own voice one of disbelief. Ron's head snapped down to the board incredulously. _No way._ No way had Bill just beaten him at _chess_. He hadn't lost a game in well, ages, and especially not to _Bill_. He had to check twice to make sure it was true.

"How did you do that?" He stammered, looking at his brother with wide eyes.

Bill was grinning from ear to ear, "Well we were both taught by the same man, Ron. Guess Dad's skill is finally rubbing off on me, too." His smile faded and he grew serious once again. "So…my final question. Why'd you walk out on them?"

Ron had known it was coming, but that didn't make answering any easier. He could hardly work through it himself, let alone explain it to Bill. He shut his eyes to concentrate. "We weren't making any progress and I was worried about all of you and there was this…thing…that was messing with my head. It made me think stuff, stuff that I'd already been thinking, but it made it worse, you know? And I got so fed up that Harry and I…we started to fight and we pulled our wands…bloody hell Bill we pulled our wands on one another! Then he yelled at me to get out and…I did," he swiped at his eyes furiously. The pause was weighty. "She was calling for me, Bill. I could hear her saying my name and I just kept walking. I didn't even turn around. I didn't even look back at her."

He could feel Bill's eyes on him even though his own were still shut tight. Desperately he tried to control himself, to pull himself together, but he could feel himself unraveling quickly. How could he have been so cold? He could hardly live with himself.

"She'll forgive you, Ron," Bill said softly.

"She shouldn't," he said firmly. He had never been more convinced that Hermione deserved someone better.

"I think it's up to her to decide that." Ron finally looked up. "Maybe you'll be able to find a way back."

"It's impossible."

"There's always a way. And if anyone can find it I know you can." He paused until finally, Ron nodded. "But look Ron, you can't keep going on like this. If you're going to find them you've got to quit feeling sorry for yourself and get yourself together. And you've got to stop punishing yourself. Mum would probably have a heart attack if she saw you. You can't keep skipping meals."

They stared at each other for a long time until Ron finally spoke. Bill was right. He had to start fighting to set things right again. He would plan. He would come up with options. He'd get back, somehow. "Yeah. Yeah okay. And um—Bill?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for letting me stay with you."

"Anytime kid. Anytime."


	25. Agony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 19, "The Silver Doe," and chapter 23, "Malfoy Manor," of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

When she was six, she had sworn she would never fall in love. Her teacher had been pregnant, and the woman had grown fatter and grumpier until one day she had disappeared altogether. Hermione had asked her mum about it, and she had explained to her that many women went on leave near the end of their pregnancy, to care for the baby. Hermione didn't care much for babies. They were smelly and they were loud, and they needed to be looked after constantly. She couldn't imagine leaving work for one. By the time Mrs. Roberts had returned, school was just about to end. She had missed practically the entire year. Her mother told her all of that was worth it when you were in love and wanted a family. Hermione didn't think love sounded very appealing.

When she was 12, for the first time, she became friends with boys. In fact, boys became her closest friends. At first, it was strange. In her dormitory, the other girls had started to talk about boys _constantly_. She had spent an entire night in the common room observing Ron and Harry more closely, trying to decide what everyone found so enticing. She looked at their eyes, like Lavender said, and their hair. She didn't see it. They were just Ron and Harry. Her friends. Her best friends. They had noticed her staring at them and she had pushed the thoughts aside, muttering something about homework.

When she was 13, at home for the summer holiday, she realized that she missed Ron when he wasn't around. She missed Harry too, but not quite the same way. Her heart didn't start racing whenever she got an owl from _Harry_ , like it did with Ron.

When she was 14, she decided Ron was more than a friend. More than a best friend, even. He was a something.

When she was 16, she came to the conclusion that love was not a choice.

Now, at 18, she recalled the promise of her younger self with a kind of anger that she hadn't been successful. Love had never been her top priority and yet it had slunk its way in anyway, in the form of Ron Weasley. Ron, who had left her alone on an impossible mission. Love was dreadful. The span of time since his departure had been hell. A dark cloud seemed to hang over the tent wherever they went. She and Harry barely spoke. Both of them were on edge, tiptoeing around one another and constantly afraid of setting the other one off. When she had finally worked up the courage to suggest Godric's Hollow, they had nearly been killed by Voldemort's snake. Not only that, but she had broken Harry's wand, and he had grown even more distant. She could see the disappointment burning beneath his eyes, and knew she had let him down. She was miserable. Wearing the locket had gotten worse, too. When it was on, all she could feel was anger at Ron for leaving when it mattered the most. When it was off, she mostly just cried.

Then he was back and the locket was gone, all at once. Harry had woken her up and he was just _there_ , out of _nowhere_ , apologizing and going on about a ball of light touching his heart. Something had come over her, and she had wanted him to feel pain. There he was, _smiling_ at her, as if he could just waltz back in here and _apologize_ , and she had never felt angrier. She had hit him. She had tried to hurt him with each blow. She was hurt, and she had been since the day he walked out. It only seemed fair, for him to hurt now. That same night she had regretted it, but only the hitting. She wouldn't take back her words.

Now, she was focused on being stony with him. She tried not to talk to him, directing all her thoughts to Harry and sending Ron glares whenever he commented. Her anger towards him hadn't abated. But she was also angry at herself. For having to remember to be short with him. For consciously having to keep her distance. For being glad that he was back. For even now, after all that he'd put her through, wanting nothing more than to kiss him and be kissed in return. The whole situation made her furious.

Ron was somber around her in return. They kept their interactions to a minimum, and for the most part, she thought it was better that way. Yet from her spot at the entrance to the tent as she kept watch, she could hear Harry and Ron joking and laughing loudly from inside. _How could Harry have forgiven him so easily?_ Every time _she_ looked at him she saw the sneer he'd worn before throwing the locket aside and storming out. His departing words still rung in her head, _"you choose him."_ Was that really what he thought of her? How could she forgive someone who had lost her trust? Furiously, she plucked out a handful of grass and began shredding it to pieces as a distraction, until there was a tap on her shoulder.

"My turn," Harry said with a grin. Ron's return had done a remarkable job on his spirits. The same could hardly be said for her. Hermione nodded and brushed the grass from her jeans. A part of her wanted to refuse, to insist she extend her watch, if only to avoid alone time with Ron, but she knew it was a bad idea. Her eyes had been flickering for the past hour, and falling asleep on watch wouldn't do any of them any good. So she swept past Harry back into the tent and immediately veered towards her bunk and the book that lay atop it.

It was _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ Ron's return, and his story of the deluminator, had inspired her to take it up again, convinced now there was no chance at all that Dumbledore had given her something useless. Ron kept glancing over at her from the table as she read. By the fourth or fifth time, she snapped. "What?" She said coldly, staring over the top of the page at him. He didn't even flinch.

"Nothing. Sorry," he said calmly, turning back to his radio. So they sat in silence, the only sounds the low murmur of Ron's radio dial and the soft flutter of the pages of her book. She could still feel his eyes on her periodically, but he always looked away rather quickly when she glanced up. After an hour, she could feel her eyes drifting, but forced herself to stand up instead. They still hadn't had dinner. Reluctantly, she set sleep aside.

Ron must have heard her sigh, because before she had even managed to grab the bag of mushrooms Harry had gathered earlier, he was up in a flash and standing in front of her in the tiny kitchen. "I'll do it," he said, holding out his hands for the bag. Hermione glared at him.

"I'm perfectly capable," she said stiffly, shoving her way past him.

"I _know_ that, I just meant, you look like you could use a break... I just want to help."

She gave a hollow laugh. "Help?" she snapped. "Where were you a week ago when I was comforting Harry at his parents' graves? When we were almost killed? When he woke up from another nightmare and didn't have a wand and went into a panic? That's right, _you_ were relaxing to your heart's content with your family, while eating real food and getting a full nights sleep! Well sorry if I don't need your damn help anymore."

She knew he hadn't been insinuating anything, but she couldn't keep her anger at bay any longer. It had been building up since the night of his return and now it was starting to overflow. She wanted to blow off steam. She wanted an argument. But Ron didn't even open his mouth. Instead, he just wandered back over to his radio and sat down again. She felt like screaming. Why wasn't he fighting back? Ron _never_ backed down from a row. "What's the _matter_ with you?" She barked, the bag of mushrooms left forgotten on the countertop.

He looked back up at her in bewilderment. "What?" He said wearily.

"Why aren't you yelling back at me?" She demanded.

He just shrugged. "Because you're right," he said simply. She was taken completely off guard by his words, and he clearly noticed, because he continued on. "You stayed. We swore we'd be there for Harry and I—I wasn't. But you were. And you two managed things just fine without me, didn't you?" he said flatly. No we didn't, Hermione thought furiously. _We were lost without you, you idiot. Two people aren't nearly as good in a fight as three... We barely made it out alive when the snake turned up. We barely talked. For over a month, we barely spoke. We were miserable._ She wanted to scream it at him, to make him realize how much he meant to their little trio. If he didn't understand how important he was to Harry, to her, how could he ever understand what he had done to them by leaving? He had ripped away a sense of wholeness when he had left. He had left her broken. Didn't he know that that was why she was so mad?

Ron was still talking, "—and I know I didn't have a right to just show up again, and I don't expect things to go back to normal, all right? You can stay mad at me for as long as you like. I deserve it. But you have to know I'm really, really sorry, Hermione. Just, let me make dinner, please?" He was looking at her almost pleadingly. It was strange, to be involved in an argument where the other party wasn't fighting back. _Especially_ when that other party was Ron. She didn't like it. She couldn't keep it up forever. She knew already she was going to forgive him. How could she not? He was her best friend.

She tried to stay as stony as possible as she answered him. Deciding to forgive him didn't mean the thing had to be done immediately. It would have to come in small doses. "Mushrooms are on the counter," she relented finally. As she turned back to her bed and her awaiting book, she could have sworn she saw him grin.

* * *

 

*"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Hermione tried to crane her neck towards the others, only to realize it was she who had made the noise. Greyback was moving towards them, and his words from earlier once again floated to the forefront of her mind _…Delicious girl…What a treat…._ She shuddered involuntarily against the others as he inched nearer, resisting the urge to scream at him not to touch her. Resisting was no use. She remembered the sound of knuckles hitting flesh, of Ron speaking through the blood. It would only make things worse for them, fighting back. Comforting fingers were tugging on her own, from where they were bound together behind her back. _Ron_. She shut her eyes and tried to focus on the touch, rather than the sounds of Greyback's ragged breathing as he shuffled closer to them.

*"Wait," she heard Bellatrix saying, "All except…except for the Mudblood." _No. No no no no no._ Ron was now shouting, his fingers desperately trying to get a better grasp on hers, as if that would somehow keep her safe.

*"No! You can have me, keep me!" It was just like Ron, to try to sacrifice himself. He was once again the eleven year old boy who walked willing into the fray of McGonagall's chess set, just so that she and Harry could continue on…. It was foolishly, stupidly brave. She would never let him do it. She forced her eyes open and tried to calm her breathing, glaring at Bellatrix with her best look of defiance, suddenly thankful the woman had singled out her and not one of the boys. She was a Gryffindor, too, after all. She could be brave. She could do this, for them.

*"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next," Bellatrix sneered, rattling off instructions to Greyback as her own hands worked at the ropes, cutting Hermione away from the rest. Ron was still desperately trying to grab her, despite his wrists being bound together, preventing him from moving more than few inches in any direction. She felt only his fingertips, then nothing. From her other side, Bellatrix had grabbed her hair and was pulling her towards the center of the room. By the time she managed to turn her head back around towards the entryway, Harry, Ron, and Dean had disappeared. For the first time, she was fighting alone.

She was thrown unceremoniously to the floor, and Bellatrix leered down at her. She looked insane, a mad woman, brandishing her wand in one hand and her knife in the other, her flyaway black hair wisping against her face like smoke. When she spoke, even her voice sounded lethal, thick with a kind of venom. Bloodlust seemed to seep out of her very pores. "Shall we do a bit of a warm-up, dear?" Not waiting for a response, her hand shot up, her wand snapping to position, focused on Hermione's body, laid out upon the ground. _"CRUCIO!"_

For a split instant, nothing happened. Hermione seemed to be surrounded by a deadly calm, an eerie silence. Then, her body was ripped in two. It was a pain of the kind that couldn't be fully explained with mere words. Each extremity seemed to be tearing apart, slowly one at a time. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. Every cell seemed to be screaming for relief. A thousand scalding knives were piercing her skin, burning her insides. She was on fire. Was she even a 'she'? Her body didn't seem to exist. There was no way a human being could endure such pain. Maybe she was already dead….

But Bellatrix lifted the spell, and she found herself gasping for breath on the floor, the room spinning around her. From above her, Bellatrix was barking at her, demanding answers to questions she could barely process. About the sword. _But why—?_ Before she could fully sort through it, she was hit once more with the Cruciatus, and dissolved again into screams, wreathing around on the ground helplessly. There was no way to fight it, no way to escape.

This time, even when the curse was lifted, although she came to her senses, the pain remained. Every limb felt like a heavy weight, pulling her down. She couldn't have moved even if she tried. Her head was pounding, Bellatrix's words reverberating through her. She had to fight hard to keep her brain straight, to form answers that would reveal nothing, but still keep Bellatrix preoccupied. She had to make Bellatrix believe the sword was a fake. Maybe there was still a chance, if not for her, for Harry and Ron. As long as she kept Bellatrix turning in circles, maybe they could escape. *"You are a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!_ "

She was hit again by the spell. And again. She could hear herself begging for it to end. Her mind drifted to Neville's parents, alive but not living, and wondered if that would be her, when it ended. She decided she would prefer death. Not that Bellatrix would give her a choice.

The woman was leaning so closely over her now that Hermione could feel the coldness of her breath on her cheek. The noise dimmed to a whisper as Bellatrix rasped out threats softly in her ear, "I would start talking, dearie. Real answers. You are very quickly becoming…disposable," her cruel eyes locked on Hermione's own, and she knew. None of them were getting out of here. They were all going to die. The mission had ended. It was over. Bellatrix could clearly sense the words had had an impact, because she kept on ruthlessly. "You will make quite the treat for Greyback, he's not used to getting someone so _young_. And he likes to play with his food before eating it, you know. What a nice little evening it shall be." Hermione could only whimper. From the corner of her eye, she could see the werewolf watching her hungrily. Tears fell before she could stop them. He was going to touch her. Bellatrix was going to…she was going to let him….

Then she heard it, sounding up from the cellar before her. _His_ voice, desperate, frantic, calling out for her. She shut her eyes and tried to imagine sinking through the floor towards that voice. It was like earlier, with his fingertips gripping hers. For a second, she was filled with hope. Ron wouldn't ever let _that_ happen. The three of them always got out, Harry and Ron would get them out. But Bellatrix heard it too, and her next words shook Hermione to the very core, returning her to reality. None of them had a chance. "Maybe we'll bring the boys back up to watch. And once you're finished with, I'll start on Ginger."

_No_. No, not Ron. She couldn't let him suffer this. She wanted it to be quick for him, painless. A flash of green light. She had to hold on. Bellatrix was up again, screaming, hysterical. She surprised even herself when her voice came out clear, hindered slightly by her sobs, but steady, never wavering. The answer wasn't good enough, of course. Nothing she could say would be.

_Pain_. She would never see Ron again. She tried to remember the feeling of his fingers on hers, but her mind was far too hazy at the moment. What was the last thing she'd said to him? She couldn't remember. _Again_. They had failed, and the realization was almost worse than the curse itself. Seventeen years of surviving and Harry was going to go the same way as his parents, at the hands of Voldemort. After he was gone, who would be left to save the wizarding world? How could the fight continue without Harry Potter? Who else could defeat him? _Crucio_. She tried desperately to cling on with thoughts of them. Harry's laugh, Ron's grin, the smell of his hair, the look he gave her that night at Grimmauld Place, when she _knew_ …. She could feel herself slipping. _I'm sorry,_ she thought desperately, her vision growing spotty, _I'm so so sorry I couldn't save you._ It was directed at the both of them, but it was Ron's face she saw as Bellatrix raised her wand.

When the spell hit again, there was nothing but darkness.

*quotes taken directly from pages 463-467 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_


	26. At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during chapter 25, "Shell Cottage," of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

They landed with a thud outside of Shell Cottage, and Hermione's dead weight brought him immediately to his knees. It only took a moment to adjust to the surroundings before he began scrambling to his feet. He could see movement in front of the little house ahead of him and began hurrying towards it as quickly as possibly, clutching desperately at the figure in his arms. Hermione had never before looked so pale, and even in the dim light he could see tiny droplets of blood emerging from the thin cut across her throat. Ron had to will himself to stop trembling, pulling her closer in an attempt to steady his movement until finally he saw Bill, running towards them up the path, Fleur trailing close behind.

From the look Bill was giving him he could tell what he was thinking, and he shook his head desperately. "She's—she's hurt," he rasped, looking past his brother towards Fleur. "You have to help her, _please…_."

"Zere is still an empty room. Take her inside," Fleur instructed.

Ron nodded, turning back to Bill, "Harry. He's coming, he's on his way…."

Not waiting for a response, he hastened towards the cottage, past Luna and Dean, who were holding the door open for him, and up the stairs to the tiniest bedroom, where he set Hermione down as gently as possible on Fleur's crisp white sheets. Hermione seemed to sink right into them, looking impossibly small. He pulled over the wooden chair from the desk and grappled for her hand, squeezing it in his own.

"Wake up Hermione," he whispered, "please wake up." As he leaned over her he could hear her breathing, but feared it would stop at any moment, that they had only gotten to her when it was already too late. For an instant, he was back down in the cellar, calling for her. Her screams consumed him, resounding in his mind over and over…. And desperately, he prayed for them to continue, panicking when his calls were met with silence, filled with relief when he heard her in anguish once again. He suddenly felt sick, for how could he be so grateful to hear her in pain? It was a twisted sort of logic, but as long as she was screaming, he at least knew she was alive, and as the noise sounded up again, he was nothing but relieved.

But no, she was safe now. He could feel her pulse, he could see her chest rising and falling to the gentle sounds of her breathing. They were at Bill and Fleur's, she would be all right. Against all odds, they had gotten out. He felt tears stinging his eyes and did nothing to try to stop them, letting them roll down his cheeks in waves as he looked at her, more aware then ever how close he had come to losing her. He needed to hear her voice again, to see her beautiful brown eyes, to feel her hand come alive against his. He needed confirmation, to abate the still present voice whispering to him that she could drop off at any second. "You've got to wake up, Hermione," he choked. "We can't make it without you. I can't make it without you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. There was nothing I could do, I tried everything. _Please_ just wake up…."

Fleur had appeared by the bedside, clutching a tray covered in vials of various potions. "What has 'appened to her?" his sister-in-law asked sadly, staring down at the broken figure on the bed.

"Cruciatius," he admitted, "More than once…um…a lot…a lot of times. And the chandelier fell, that's what all the marks are. Except, um," It was hard to talk, to concentrate on getting out the words, "Except her neck. That was a knife. I don't know, if there was anything else…."

He trailed off, but Fleur seemed to understand well enough, for she was already busily pulling certain potions out from the rest and setting them aside. He didn't even notice his older brother appearing in the doorway until Bill spoke, his voice firm, but gentle. "We need to talk Ron, in the hall."

" _No!_ I mean…no, I have to stay with her." He gripped Hermione's hand a little tighter, willing her to just _wake up_ ….

"Go," Fleur was saying, "I 'ave to change her." Apparently sensing Ron's hesitation, she added gently, "She will be all right."

Reluctantly, he dropped Hermione's hand, sensing the loss immediately. It felt horribly wrong to leave her alone again… No, not alone. With Fleur. She was fine. Swiping his hand across his cheeks to offset the tears, he followed his brother into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

"What?" he said wearily, looking into the deeply scarred face before him and trying to read it.

"' _What?'_ What the _hell_ , Ron? There are three nearly dead people in my house and a dead elf on my lawn and you say _what?"_

"She's not…she's not dead—" he paused, the second half of Bill's sentence suddenly sinking in. Dead elf? " _Dobby?_ No…no, he's fine. He saved us, then he…then he disapparated away with Harry. He's okay. Everyone got out."

But Bill's eyes had softened, and the answer was written clearly even across his scarred face. " _No_ ," Ron whispered to no one in particular, his voice thick. It couldn't be. Not Dobby. Not the elf who had saved them just when he had lost all hope…. _No_. The tears were back and he averted his eyes. "I have to get back to Hermione," he muttered, his hand already reaching for the door knob. He had seen Dobby, perfectly fine, just minutes before. Hermione could still….

But Bill had blocked his way, shifting smoothly in front of the door. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

Ron glared at him. "What do you think, Bill?" he snapped, "We were caught! Now get the hell out of my way before I hex you!" He tried to push his way past his brother, but the man stood firm, grappling with him until he had him pinned at arm's length.

"Calm _down_ Ron! Whatever's happened, The Order needs to know…."

"DO YOU THINK I GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT THE ORDER RIGHT NOW?" yelled Ron, hysterical now, "THEY TORTURED HERMIONE, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR? THAT—THAT _BITCH_ KEPT CURSING HER, OVER AND OVER, AND I COULDN'T DO A _THING_." His voice faltered, "She just kept _screaming_ , until she…she….she nearly…."

He could feel Bill pulling him closer and suddenly he was sobbing into his brother's shoulder as if he was once again a little boy, running to Bill when he had scrapped his knees…. "I was supposed to keep her safe," he cried helplessly. "I tried. I tried _everything_. I wanted her to take me. Why didn't she just take me?" Bill didn't answer. He probably didn't understand enough _to_ answer. He simply hugged him tightly, and let him cry.

Ron wasn't sure how long he stood there, feeling as pathetic as he must have looked, crumbling in his brothers arms, but he didn't pull away until the door beside them shot open and Fleur emerged. "She is awake, and asking for you," she said, turning to Ron. "I should fix your eye first," she added, gesturing at the bruises that had formed as a result of the blows he had taken. But Ron ignored the offer, pushing past her in his haste to reenter the tiny bedroom.

Hermione was sat up in the bed, leaning heavily against a pile of fluffy pillows. She was wearing one of Fleur's nightgowns, a silky pink thing that he knew was something she'd never wear of her own accord. The bruises and cuts that had covered her now appeared several days old. Some had even disappeared altogether. All in all, she appeared relatively unscathed. From an outsider's point-of-view, no one would probably be able to guess that she had just undergone unimaginable amounts of torture. But Ron knew, from the shaking of her hand as it rested on the sheet, and the distant look in her eyes, that the deepest scars could not be seen.

"Hermione?" he all but whispered, staring at her in disbelief, as if he couldn't quite believe she were really there. Someone had shut the door after he'd entered, and he glanced back at it for but a moment before hurrying to Hermione's bedside and snatching up her hand in his own, where it shook against his palm.

"Ron," she breathed, "Ron..." Her eyes looked somehow older, like they had aged several years in only a few hours. He couldn't look away. "We got out," she whispered, and he could hear the question behind it as he realized she had no idea how they had done it. She didn't know about Dobby, for how could she? He gripped her hand a little harder.

"Yeah...yeah," he murmured, his voice thick, "we got out. Harry, um—Harry was looking in that mirror bit and Dobby showed up—"

"—and house elves can apparate even from seemingly inapparable places," Hermione finished, her lips curving into a smile, _"Brilliant."_

"Yeah, it was. Only—when we reached you, you see—Bellatrix wasn't exactly... _pleased_. That's when she cut you, but Dobby untwisted the chandelier and she let go and as we were disapparating, she threw the knife..." His voice faded. Hermione's face was already dawning in realization.

_"No."_

"He didn't make it," Ron whispered, his eyes prickling. Hermione shut her eyes and fell back against the pillow, taking a few moments to compose herself.

"He saved us," she croaked out eventually, "I was so sure I was going to die up there, so sure she was going to kill me..."

"You were _amazing_ , Hermione."

"I heard you. I was about to give up, to just let her do whatever she was going to do to me and get it over with, but then I heard you, saying my name. You kept me fighting." She was looking as him so sincerely that it made him want to cry again. He felt that he'd cried more today than in the rest of his life put together.

"You kept yourself fighting, I don't deserve any of the credit. It was all you."

He stared at her, wishing they were in a different time, a different place. Somewhere, anywhere, where there wasn't a war, where they weren't caught in the middle, teasing death at every turn. A place where they could just _be_ , and not have to worry about would happen tomorrow. Because if they had been in such a place, he really believed he would have done it. He would have leaned over and kissed her by now. Finally, he thought he had the courage to just go for it. But it was _not_ the time, or the place. And, as her screams floated back to him, all he could do was hope that they'd one day get the chance to try. When this was over, he wasn't going to waste any more time. He felt suddenly unafraid of making the declaration as he looked at her. There were, after all, far worse things than being rejected, and not ever knowing what could have happened between them was one of them.

Hermione was looking past him out the window, her eyes glistening with tears. At his questioning gaze she whispered, "Harry." Sure enough, he was out there, in the fading light of the evening, digging a small grave with an old shovel, his wand forgotten. "I've got to go help him," Ron said immediately, thinking of the elf who had done so much for them. He looked back towards Hermione, hoping she would understand. She did, of course. Hermione always seemed to understand.

He had nearly reached the door when she stopped him, her voice a tone that didn't immediately register. "Ron? Could you sleep in here tonight? I don't want to be alone."

Her voice sounded impossibly small, and he realized why he couldn't recognize the tone, because she had so rarely ever used it in front of him: it was vulnerability. He felt his heart drop. Hermione had a brilliant mind, the brightest in their whole year, yet she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw. When he had been eleven, he had sometimes wondered _why_. She seemed like such a perfect fit. But it quickly had become clear: Hermione had a strength that never seemed to deplete. A resilience that couldn't be matched. She may have the brains of a Ravenclaw, but she was a Gryffindor at heart. Sure, she might disappear for a good cry every now and again, but then she would come springing back, more determined than ever. She was a fighter. Only she didn't look it, in the instant that her eyes pleaded with him, as she lay there broken on the bedsheets. He could picture her clearly through the years, vehemently arguing her case for Buckbeak, later for S.P.E.W., for Dumbledore's Army. Her face ablaze as she raised her hand to question Umbridge…her eyes set as she took off from the ground on the back of a threstral, despite her deep seated fear of flying…the conviction in her voice as she snapped at him for asking her to watch over his family, if anything happened…the sheer will to live that was so powerful she never wavered in her belief they would all make it out alive. Now she looked unsure. She looked tired. Bellatrix seemed to have pulled the fight right out of her, drained her of that always present strength. The spark was gone from her eyes.

How long would it take for it to come back? He didn't doubt that it would. She was still Hermione, after all. That was something Bellatrix hadn't been able to take from her. "Yeah," he managed to say, "'Course."

* * *

 

The first nightmare didn't come until 4 nights later, when Fleur's stock of sleeping drought had finally depleted. It was the first night Hermione had to go without it. In the daytime, she had already sprung back for the sake of the mission, launching almost immediately into planning with him and Harry. But Ron noticed how her eyes sometimes glossed over, how her body occasionally seized up for just a second, how she excused herself to the loo and took ages to return. After the first night, Bill and Fleur hadn't approved of Ron sleeping in her room (and weren't dissuaded by the fact that they had, in fact, been living in the same tent for months), but he always sat up with her until the sleeping drought kicked in before he returned to the sitting room. He could tell it made her anxious to be alone.

On that fourth night, after he had returned to the boys' makeshift bedroom he shared with Harry and Dean, he found it especially difficult to fall sleep, lying awake and hoping she'd be okay without the drought. A panicked look, though briefly lived, had crossed her face when Fleur had broken the news. His worries were not unjustified. Shortly after he had dozed off, or at least it seemed like shortly afterwards, the house was awoken by her screams. Hearing the harsh noise resounding from the room above was gut-wrenchingly familiar. It took him a minute just to compose himself before he scrabbled to his feet. Harry was standing up as well, and Dean was looking between them with wide eyes. "Let me," Ron muttered to Harry, already moving past him to the stairwell. Luckily, Harry seemed to understand, because he didn't follow. Somehow it had to be Ron, and only him.

By the time he had gotten to her door, he nearly ran headlong into Bill and Fleur, who were emerging from their bedroom with both their wands held aloft, looking stricken. "Hermione's just had a nightmare," he told them needlessly, "I've got it covered. You two should go back to bed." Bill opened his mouth as if to argue, but Fleur's touch on his arm stopped him short, and he merely nodded. Fleur guided him away again, and Ron pushed through the door. Hermione was thrashing around on the bed. Her screaming had become ragged gasps, and he froze as her voice rang out helplessly between them, "NO, no… _please_ …don't touch me, _don't touch me…._ "

He was shaking her awake in an instant, her screams regenerating at his touch, her arms flailing around to hit him, making it particularly difficult to shake her—"Get off me, get off me! Stop… _please!"_ —he was beginning to panic, what if he couldn't wake her? He couldn't just sit here and let her endure this…. But her movements stopped abruptly as he finally succeeded in pulling her from sleep, and she shot up so fast he had to leap out of the way to avoid getting head-bunted. Hermione was looking around wildly, frantically pulling her wand out from beneath her pillow and raising it—

"Stop! Hermione, it's me, it's me!" He raised his hands in defense, hoping she'd be able to make him out through the semi-darkness.

She seemed to come to her senses all at once, and dropped her wand in mortification. Then she began to shake. He didn't even hesitate, plopping down on the other side of her mattress instantly and drawing her towards him. He could feel her hot tears staining the sleeve of his t-shirt as she shook against him, and he stroked her hair as she let them all fall. A shaky voice sounded out from his shoulder, laced with apology, "Did I wake you?"

"More or less, but don't worry about it, I don't mind."

She apparently ignored the second half of his sentence, because she was already pulling away from him, swiping at her eyes. "I'm really sorry…being silly—"

" _No_ ," he said firmly, "You are _not_ being silly, Hermione. You were just bloody _tortured_ , and now she's gotten into your dreams too…I'd be more concerned if you _weren't_ having a reaction—"

"It wasn't her," Hermione cut across him, so softly he'd almost missed it. She averted her eyes and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them. "In the dream, it wasn't her. It was Greyback." The words came out as more of a choke.

He froze. Her cries from before he'd woken her ricocheted around in his mind. _Don't touch me, don't touch me!_ But that made it sound like— His blood ran cold. _No_. That monster couldn't possibly have... He had heard Bellatrix screaming out curse after curse up until they had burst in, finally, to stop her, there wasn't the time...

Hermione must have noticed him tensing beside her, because she added quickly, "He didn't do anything...not in reality. Bellatrix only made the threats" she shuddered and looked quickly away.

  
He gulped as the full weight of what her nightmare had been about hit him. Then he pulled her back over to him, relieved to find that she didn't push him away, and rubbed her back in rhythmic circles. _How dare that woman._ He could imagine it, Bellatrix snarling out threats as Greyback leered at her from the corner, keeping her in fear that the worst was yet to come... "I'll talk to Fleur tomorrow, maybe she or Bill can make a trip out to Muriel's, Mum's got a whole stash of sleeping drought..." Hermione sniffled, snuggling closer to him. "It's gonna be okay," he whispered, in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He could tell his own voice was shaking.

"What if we die Ron?" He cringed at the words, it was the exact opposite of Hermione's usual tune. He hadn't heard her talk like that since the day she'd shown up at the Burrow in tears after wiping her parents' memories. It wasn't that she was naïve. Of course she knew the risks, she just didn't see the need to dwell on possibilities when they could focus instead on how to keep living. That's what she'd always told him whenever he'd brought it up in the tent, anyway. _This is Harry, and Dumbledore,_ she'd said confidently one night, _I really think we're going to make it._ _We can do this._ But he couldn't ignore her question now, because he wondered it too. What if they did die? He knew they would both do whatever was necessary to go before Harry, but then what? Harry could lose, and where would that leave everyone else? All the people he loved? His family? What if Voldemort _won?_

"We've managed to avoid it this far," he said weakly. "That's a talent, that is." She didn't even crack a smile. "We could live," he reminded her, unable to avoid the seriousness of the subject, "We could win. It's not over yet."

There was silence, but for the muffled sound of her sniffles, for a long time. They held each other tightly, legs intertwined, his fingers laced in hers, neither saying another word, but the meaning of it all clear between them. It was a new sort of intimacy he knew neither of them would have risked in the daytime. After all, there were some conversations, and some actions, that could only take place after someone had had a nightmare, days after nearly dying, in the dead of night.


	27. When It All Falls Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it, the final chapter! THANK YOU to everyone who has read this story. Your support and feedback are why I love posting fanfiction. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story even half as much as I enjoyed writing it. Did I conclude this chapter in the cheesiest way possible? You can bet I did. 
> 
> Without further ado...this chapter takes place, sporadically, between chapters thirty one, "The Battle of Hogwarts," and thirty six, "The Flaw in the Plan" of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

"I can't say I'm sorry I missed this one…" said Hermione, shuddering as she knelt down beside the dead carcass of the basilisk, yanking out its fangs.

"I've never been happier that I was barricaded in with Lockhart the whole time," Ron said, joining her wearing his own look of disgust. The chamber was dark and grimy. A thin layer of water coated the stone beneath her knees, soaking through her jeans. And the massive basilisk before them, even in death, still managed to give off a sense of foreboding.

"Well I'd say we've gotten enough, wouldn't you?" said Ron, gesturing to the scatter of fangs in each of their arms and looking more than ready to get the hell out of there.

"Agreed," she said, relieved. The place was giving her the creeps, especially once she'd seen a torn scrap of black fabric lying on the ground that looked remarkably like it could have come from Harry or Ginny's old school robes. "Wait!" she said suddenly, an idea dawning upon her. "Oh hold these, would you?" Clumsily she dumped her own fangs on top of the already sizable pile in Ron's arms. Then she pulled open the beaded bag, digging around until she felt it… "Ah hah! There it is. I figure we better destroy it down here, while we're out of sight…." She held out the glistening gold cup, the ornate badger peering out at them from the side. It was a shame, really, that Voldemort had chosen such precious artifacts to trap his soul into. The little goblet was quite beautiful.

Ron was staring at it apprehensively, and not for the first time, she wondered if he had told her the whole truth about what had happened after he had pulled Harry from the lake. "You should do it," he said, dumping the fangs on the ground and picking one out for her. She took it a bit reluctantly, staring at him with questioning eyes. "Just remember to do it quickly. And ignore anything it says to you. Or better yet, just stab it before it gets the chance to talk…."

_"Talk?"_ she squeaked, "You never told me the locket _said_ things!"

He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. "That isn't important right now. Go on then, let's get this over with."

She knelt in the puddles once again, setting Hufflepuff's shimmering cup before her. But as soon as she raised her arm, fang in hand, against it, the little cup began to quiver.

"Now, Hermione," Ron barked, eyes widening as he, too, stared at the goblet, "Do it now."

But her arm didn't seem to be working properly, frozen in midair as she watched, transfixed, as the goblet began to fill with water….

"Hermione! Hermione, now! Stab it NOW!" Ron was bellowing, but his voice seemed far off, and she watched as the water twisted itself into what appeared to be a figure, rising slowly from the depths of the cup. It was the likeness of her mother, she could see that now, wearing the same dress she'd worn the last day she'd seen her. And once the woman had broken the surface, a second figure began to emerge alongside her: that of Hermione's father. They were her parents, clearly, but there was something off about them, something that made Hermione uneasy. They were both unsmiling. Ron was still screaming something to her, but she could no longer make out his words, which had blurred into a distant buzz. Then the figure that was her mother opened its watery mouth….

"How could you, Hermione?" her mother's voice rang out, laced heavy with disappointment. Hermione's stomach sank. She felt her arm dropping but paid it no mind. "We always knew sending you to Hogwarts was a mistake. So much potential as a child…you could have made a great dentist…yet you _insisted_ we send you to learn magic tricks…what a waste. And look what you've done to us now!"

"No," Hermione heard herself saying, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, "You don't understand! I had to, I didn't mean to hurt you—" But she was interrupted by her father.

"We went years knowing nothing about your life! Nothing! Secrecy and lies, thats what defines you, Hermione. Always above your silly nonmagical parents, is that it? Leaving us behind for a foolish, unworthy boy and his equally foolish family. Is our home not good enough for you? We were worried about you when you had no friends, but to think of the people you associate with now, you were better off before! You've turned out to be such a _disappointment_ , Hermione."

The figure of her mother was nodding along in agreement. Hermione's tears were falling readily now, and she felt the basilisk fang drop from her fingertips. "We feel lucky to have forgotten you," her mother spoke, "Australia is lovely, we're so much better off here. Don't come back for us."

"No Mum, no, you can't mean that…." Hermione choked, forgetting entirely that the figures were merely crafted from water, and feeling instead as though she knelt truly before her parents, who were turning her away just as she had secretly always feared they would. _Don't come back for us._ The words rang in her ears. Then suddenly, the figures were blocked, and smooth hands were cupping her face. Blurred by her misty eyes, Ron's face swam before hers, and suddenly his voice was drowning out that of her parents'.

"You can do this, Hermione. It's not real, they aren't real." One of his hands moved down to curl her fingers back around the dropped fang. "As soon as I move away, stab it, yeah?"

She felt herself nod, the moment spent out of sight from the figures snapping her back to her senses. She strengthened her grip around the fang, and when Ron had pulled away, aimed the point right into the basin of the cup. It shattered instantly, the figures of her parents dissolving into a wave of water that fell upon her and Ron, soaking them.

When the water had cleared, only adding to the wetness of the ground, Ron held out a hand to help her up. She accepted it shakily.

"I'm sorry. I was going to do it right away, like you said, but then _they_ appeared and I just…I couldn't," she mumbled, trying to steady her breathing as she bent down to collect the now soaked fangs.

"We'll get them back," Ron said sincerely, "Once this is all over. I'll, erm, I'll even go with you, if you'd like." His ears reddened, but he didn't look away. She smiled at him, standing up so they were face to face, only inches apart….

"I'd love that. Thank you." As they stared at one another, she really expected it to happen, more so than ever before. She even leaned in a little, in anticipation. But then one of the fangs slipped through her arms and clattered to the floor, and as Ron clambered to get it, the moment was broken.

When they walked back towards the entrance to the chamber, she thought she detected a hint of disappointment in his features. But she couldn't be sure.

* * *

 

His lips were on hers and it was absolutely marvelous. It was like a dream, except it was so much better than a dream. It was reality. It was actually happening. And it felt it as if they could be frozen there for all eternity. No war, no Voldemort, no fighting, just the two of them, trapped in their little moment, at long last.

* * *

 

She watched him from the bench across from his. Percy, whose eyes were streaked with tears, was rubbing his back. His head was in his hands. The other Weasleys filled out the rest of the benches, or else sat huddled around Fred's body on the floor. George had not moved from his position beside his twin, his whole body downcast. Mrs. Weasley's sobs racked the hall, intertwined with sobs from other families and other friends, crying over their own losses. There were so many dead.

She felt like an outsider, an intruder, barging in on someone else's extremely private moment. It was only when she tore her eyes away from Ron to search out the only other person whom she knew must be feeling the same way that she realized he was missing. Immediately, panic welled up inside her, and she was on her feet only an instant later. Harry was gone. He had been there only a moment before, hadn't he? She knew he had walked with them into the Great Hall. Then what? She couldn't quite remember. Maybe he had seen Fred and Tonks and Remus and it had all been too much for him. But why hadn't he said anything? Oh dear Merlin how long had it been? How could he just slip out without telling them?

_"Ron!"_ She whispered urgently, not processing that she was now at his side until she heard his name falling from her lips. "Where's Harry?"

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Harry! Where's Harry?"

Ron looked around wildly, as if expecting her to have missed him in the crowd. But he came to the same conclusion: Harry was no where to be found. They locked eyes, and then Ron was on his feet as well and they were dashing out of the Great Hall, waving away the questioning looks from Ron's brothers. When she looked at him, she knew Voldemort's announcement must be running through his mind as well. But Harry couldn't've...not without telling them...he wouldn't.

She was following sharp on Ron's heels, but it was unclear if he knew where he was leading her as they darted from one corridor to the next. Bodies were still being collected, and faces flashed by her as she ran. She almost tripped over a small boy who looked no older than thirteen, and had to hold back tears. A corridor over she was by distracted by the sight of Luna soothing a bleeding girl on the floor and accidentally surged straight into Ron when he came to an abrupt halt. Luckily, he managed to steady her before they both tumbled down, and when she regained her senses, she realized they had paused before the great Griffin stairwell that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "The pensieve, Snape's memories! Of course!" she exclaimed, wondering why she hadn't thought of it herself. Harry wasn't the sort to wait around for information, it made perfect sense that he'd want to see what Snape had left him immediately.

Ron was fruitlessly trying to figure out the password. "Bat spleen...fluxweed...leech juice..." he exclaimed, listing out random potions ingredients. "The Dark Lord forever...Slytherin rocks...I dunno Hermione, what do you think an old bastard like Snape would make his password?" He asked, turning to her.

"Something more sophisticated than 'Slytherin rocks,' certainly," she said, cracking a small smile. But her guess was really as good as his. She didn't have a clue.

"Maybe we should just wait here a bit and see if he comes down?"

"But what if he's not even up there? We'll just be wasting more time! At that rate, we'll never find him…." She frantically checked her watch. Their hour was already dwindling.

"Are you two looking for Harry?" A voice sounded from down the hall.

"Neville!" Ron greeted, turning to him. "Yeah. Have you seen him?"

"Just a while, ago, actually, out on the grounds. He said he'd be gone awhile…. He didn't tell you that?"

"Must've forgotten to mention it," said Hermione, struggling to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Look Neville, Harry didn't seem a bit…odd…to you, did he?"

Neville scrunched up his face in apparent consideration, "Well he didn't say too much. I guess he did seem a tad out of sorts. Said he was carrying out some part of the plan. Oh! And to, erm, to kill the snake, yeah?"

_"He told you that?"_ Hermione squeaked. But Ron had already taken off in the other direction, running towards the steps that led out to the grounds. "Thanks Neville!" she continued hurriedly, giving him a quick pat on the back before dashing after Ron.

"Ron, wait!" He didn't slow down, and she picked up her pace, nearly tripping over a fallen root. The grounds were now mostly deserted. Ron was headed straight for the trees.

"Harry wouldn't have told Neville about the snake if he wasn't going to do something stupid," he called back to her. "He's gone to the forest. He's turning himself in, bloody git."

"I know, I _know_ that," responded Hermione, a bit desperately now, "But you can't go in there. Just, _just stop for a minute!"_

For a moment, she thought he had listened, because Ron slowed just before the edge of the trees. Then he turned back to her. "I'm not going to lose another brother, Hermione!" he bellowed, and her heart seemed to split into two on the spot as she looked into his eyes. There was an emptiness to the blue now. "We don't have time for this. I'm going in there, even if you're staying behind."

She was crying again, but she hardly noticed the tears streaming down her face as she pleaded with him. " _Please_. You can't go. You'll only both end up dead. He'll kill you on the spot before you even so much as see Harry. Please don't leave me." Ron's momentum seemed to drain out of him. His stance relaxed and his entire body seemed to sag. Then he started to cry as well, looking towards the forest with the most hopeless expression she had ever seen him wear. And she knew how he felt because she felt it too. How would they go on without Harry? How could they possibly win? It seemed now more than ever that they didn't stand a chance.

She ran forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the trees, away from Voldemort, from the Death Eaters, from their best friend…. "He's made his choice," she whispered to him, with more conviction than she felt, "Now we just have to trust him."

And they stood there together, hands intertwined, eyes misty, until it was time to return to the castle.

* * *

 

All at once it was over. Voldemort's body hit the floor, and the fighting came to an abrupt halt. Death Eaters fled the scene as the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix pressed in on them. Hermione and Ron surged forward to embrace Harry, reveling in the miracle that was all three of them, unbelievably, impossibly, _alive_. it was immense relief and grief and jubilation mixed into one. It was almost surreal.

Then the tables were returned to the Great Hall, and drinks were brought up from the kitchens, flowing amongst students and teachers and families alike. Harry was swept in a wave of admirers, but she and Ron took the first opportunity available to escape to the corner of the farthest table. There was lots of things to be said, but for the first time, there was plenty of time to say them. Her life had felt like a ticking time bomb for years, counting down to an inevitable conclusion. But the conclusion had come, and she was still here. And now she had more time than she knew what to do with. She thought she could fill it up with Ron, if he would let her. From the way he had grabbed her hand the moment they had sat down, clutching it under the table, she thought he would.

Tomorrow, she would be leaving with Harry and the Weasleys for the Burrow. She hadn't been the least bit surprised when Ron told her, but upon realizing how unsurprised she actually was, she'd promptly burst into tears. She had been _expecting_ to go home with them. She hadn't thought much of it at the time, but it was everything, when she thought of it now. Even when she had nowhere to go, no one of her own to turn to, she had a home with the Weasleys. She thought of the little girl with no friends, of the twelve-year-old who spent Halloween crying in a bathroom stall for being teased. Seven years previously, not having her parents would have meant that she had no one, that she had nothing. Now she had friends, she had Harry, she had the Weasleys. She had the boy sitting beside her, whom she had loved since she was fourteen.

And despite the devastation surrounding them, despite the grief that would come and the battles that had yet to be fought, in the singular instant of that realization, **_all was well._**


End file.
